


The Ocean's Desire

by kayisdreaming



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternative Universe - Sirens, Canon-Typical Violence, Happy Ending, Implied abuse, M/M, mild violence, roughly renaissance era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2021-01-12
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:07:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27392449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kayisdreaming/pseuds/kayisdreaming
Summary: Sirens hunt desire to feast and fill the gap in their own souls.So why, then, is Sylvain chasing down a sailor without any desires? Even if he is pretty, what is there to gain?__Siren!Sylvain AU. A weird mix of far too many mermaid and siren stories.
Relationships: Felix Hugo Fraldarius/Sylvain Jose Gautier
Comments: 31
Kudos: 143





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some rules for how sirens in this au work are in the end notes, but they shouldn't be necessary to get the story. It's really just a lore dump.

There was a predictable rhythm to the comings and goings outside the port city. There were travelers and traders, the determined and the desperate. Sailors came off the ships in droves, bragging and laughing and flirting—enjoying the benefits the small island had to offer before they shipped off once more to the loneliness of the sea. And the port—like so many other ports—reveled in the attention.

Sylvain yawned, stretching along the length of his perch. The low tide had exposed the stone in the afternoon, giving him a warm place to lounge. Humans hardly had the sense to look this far out, which meant he could watch them at his leisure. But soon the sun would set and the tide would rise again, taking both his warmth and his hiding place.

He sighed, eyes falling on the sole ship worth his attention. The _Azure Moon_ —a merchant ship that teetered on the fine line between prosperous and poor. It wasn’t small, but by no means did it tower as tall as its neighboring merchant ships. It was far less pristine, likely a victim to more pirate and beast attacks from its smaller stature. But the wood was still solid, even if it was battered.

More to Sylvain’s interest, though, the ship had been taking _way_ too long to linger here.

He wasn’t a hatchling; he had a rather expansive knowledge of these ships and these sailors, all things considered. He knew that it would take about a day for them to empty their ship and sell their goods. Sometimes another day for them to entertain themselves on the island. Maybe one more if they were leaving sailors with the goods, and bringing new ones on board. And yet, already the sun had risen and set seven times, and _still_ nothing. He was going to lose his mind from boredom if this went much longer. 

He narrowed his eyes, looking to the deck of the ship. There was the Captain—an impressively-sized man whose command over his crew was unquestionable. He didn’t threaten and demean as many other captains did upon these waters, and yet there was something even in his most empathetic moments that seemed impossible to defy. Perhaps it was his sheer size, or perhaps it was because the lost eye made him seem more pirate than merchant.

The man rarely left his ship, from what Sylvain could tell. He was too friendly for bartering, and too intimidating for persuasion. It was best for him to stand as a guard, apparently. For Sylvain, though, the man’s desires were tepid at best, and could barely hold Sylvain’s attention, let alone his fascination.

His eyes fell over the rest of the ship, where a few more of the crew were coming aboard. Sylvain knew them to be a superstitious and cautious lot—more than once foiling his attempts to get near. To his advantage, though, their fears were so absorbed by things they couldn’t see that he’d avoided discovery. To them, he was a lesser threat than the leviathans of the sea, than the massive creatures they sought in the depths. But he also knew they were not wholly ignorant of him, which forced him to be careful, but otherwise wasn’t concerning.

Sylvain’s body instinctively shifted the moment a familiar form came into view. He was drawn to it now, pulled like the waves were pulled to shore.

Sylvain slid into the water, smiling at the currents that tried to resist him in vain. He moved through the water as easily as air, long tail moving with simple flicks. He didn’t need to see to know where the man was—he simply _knew_. Such was the boon of his nature. 

Of course, his nature also urged him to the town, to the docks, to the solitary beaches—to the lone souls teeming with a desire ripe enough to bite into. To those who could be played like instruments, easily persuaded to eat from Sylvain’s hand until he ate theirs.

Instead, Sylvain craved something entirely unique. He swam up, letting his eyes peek just above the surface of the water, peering into a solitary cove lit only by a dim lantern. Long shadows danced along the stone walls as the man swung his sword, a practiced grace in his movements that Sylvain was all too familiar with.

There was nothing remarkable about Sylvain’s quarry, at least not in appearance. There was nothing unique in the way navy hair was pulled into a messy bun. Nor in how his amber eyes always seemed highlighted by the tired look perpetually about them. Nor in the way his coat and gear were simplistic at best, kept loose for easy movement. Nor in the blade kept always at his side, as if he needed to be constantly vigilant for battle. For all appearances, he seemed to be just a normal man.

But it was what was _in_ him that caught Sylvain’s attention. It was a heart that had grown dull, lacking in the luster of desire. It wasn’t as if it was entirely gone—all humans had desires, to some extent—but it was as if a desire was a burden, as if it could be easily discarded.

Such hollowness would make the meal worthless when blood hit the water—perhaps filling Sylvain’s stomach but not the gaping hole in his soul—and yet _still_. Still he found himself pulled here, fascinated in a way that he had never enjoyed before. It was as if his body knew that his patience would be rewarded if he could just pull out a delicious desire that this man had buried for too long. The sheer thought made him shudder.

The man stopped, shoving his blade into the sand. He glared out into the ocean, his features shaded by the lantern’s overbearing light behind him.

“I know you’re out there.” The man hissed, voice deeper than Sylvain had expected or remembered.

Sylvain smiled, as the man looked in his direction. Their gazes didn’t quite connect—humans couldn’t see _that_ well, but the fact that he was so close was delightful.

“Stop hiding.” The man continued, voice nearly a growl—a threat interwoven in his words.

Sylvain dipped his head lower into the water, just watching over the small movements of the waves. It was generally unwise for sirens to approach land unless they were feeding; as advanced as they were in the water, they were useless with ground beneath their fins. Plus, it wouldn’t take much for a human to take advantage if they weren’t enthralled.

However, Sylvain had been tailing him for months, all to no avail. He was going to follow forever unless he learned something new.

He dipped his head under the water, heading toward shore. Maybe, if he was _really_ lucky, he’d learn the man was bland, not empty. He’d learn that his efforts had been a waste, and that he could discard this silly notion and get back to being a normal siren.

He slowed as sand slid against the scales of his torso, the sensation somewhat pleasant. He dug his fingers into the ground to lift himself more fully out of the water, the fins between his fingers not as eager for the sand as his scales. He shook the water from his hair as he partially beached himself, the short strands flicking water at the man’s feet.

Sylvain looked up, watching as the man clearly tried to hide his flinch (and failed). With a languid smile, Sylvain rested his chin in his palm. He casually flicked his tail, splashing at the small waves that lapped at his sides. He knew how the black and red scales glimmered in the low light, knew how easily they fascinated people.

It was fun to see that this man was no different. “My eyes are over here.” Sylvain said, smile flashing the sharp points of his teeth.

It didn’t surprise him that the man’s hand immediately went for the blade no longer at his side. It was rather amusing, though. By the narrowing of his eyes, Sylvain’s target didn’t look half as entertained.

Sylvain hummed, folding his arms in front of him and digging them a bit into the sand. He casually rested his chin on top. “You look tense.”

The man held himself straighter. “You’re a siren.”

Sylvain lifted and dropped his tail with a heavy splash, lips quirking. “Obviously.”

“You aren’t singing.”

“Clearly.”

His eyes narrowed further. “Why?”

Sylvain tilted his head, smile widening. “Because you’ll cut out my tongue and sell it to the highest bidder?”

The man blinked, as if the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. He looked . . . unbalanced. That was good. Unbalanced meant that he probably wouldn’t try to skewer Sylvain with his blade. “I . . . thought sirens always sang when they approached people.”

Sylvain yawned. “Is that what your books tell you?” He flipped his tail again, splashing more water onto his back. It wasn’t really necessary, but he knew how he _looked_ when water slid over his muscles, and it was too much fun to watch the man squirm a little.

“So . . .” The man stepped to his blade, plucking it out of the sand and sheathing it, “when _doe_ s your kind sing?”

Sylvain smiled. “When we grant desires.”

The man made a face, which forced a laugh from Sylvain (despite his best intentions). “Look elsewhere,” he grumbled, “there’s nothing I want worth your song.”

Sylvain’s eyes narrowed, smile widening as his breath caught in his chest. Oh, he _knew_. He knew so many things that the man could never fathom. He knew he was skilled with a blade. He knew he was the second in command to their Captain. He knew that many admired him for his competence, if not his skill.

And, sure, Sylvain could tell that he was proud of those things. He could tell that he wanted them, to some extent. But it was as if he shut down anything that could be remotely regarded as hope; as if he thought anything he could ever have would be torn away—and thus to protect himself he suffocated it.

“I’m Sylvain.” He said, noticing the waves coming higher up along his chest.

“I’m not interested.”

Sylvain snorted a laugh, failing to suppress it. “I’m not a demon.” He chuckled. “There’s no harm in giving me your name.” Besides, a name sounded like a far better way to regard him over ‘next meal’ and ‘prey’.

“Not. Interested.” The man drew his blade again, but he didn’t step closer to Sylvain. Instead, he pulled away, moving closer to the lantern. He resumed his practice as if Sylvain wasn’t there—as if Sylvain didn’t know he was being watched from the corner of the man’s eyes.

Sylvain propped himself up again, watching with poorly-veiled interest. Water lapped up the shore higher now, very nearly covering Sylvain’s tail in its entirety. The foam tickled at his gills, and Sylvain took the moment to inhale. Mist settled too much in the air, as did a scent unpleasantly familiar to him.

Perhaps it was a good thing their ship was still at port.

“What?” The man hissed, not pausing in his movements.

“Mm?”

“You’re staring.” The swing was half-hearted this time as he glanced over at Sylvain. “What?”

“Oh.” Sylvain blinked, tilting his head. “You’re just fun to watch.”

The man opened his mouth, but was interrupted by a ring that was too familiar now in its shrillness, in the way it bounced off every surface. Sylvain had heard it at every port, at every island the _Azure Moon_ had gone to.

Which meant that his fun for today had come to an end.

As expected, the man looked in the direction of the ship, lips pressed together. Slowly, he sheathed his blade. His footsteps sat heavy in the sand as he wandered toward the lantern.

“Done already?” Sylvain pouted. “And I was just starting to enjoy myself.”

The man glared at him, but said nothing as he snatched up the lantern. He began to walk along the sands, toward the crevice in the stone that was the sole path between them and the rest of the port.

“Hey, friendly advice,” Sylvain called after him, “don’t set off!”

The man’s footsteps paused. “Why?”

That surprised Sylvain. He blinked. “I smell a storm on the horizon.”

The man stood there, head turning back to Sylvain. There was something in his expression, but Sylvain couldn’t place it. Curiosity, maybe?

“You’ll, um,” Sylvain shifted into a sit, dusting the sand off his chest, “you’ll get caught right in the middle.”

The man nodded, then continued. But, right before he passed the rock passage, he paused again. “I’m Felix.”

“Felix.” Sylvain blinked, trying the name out. No, even his name tasted absurdly normal. He smiled. “Be safe Felix.”

He dove into the water before he saw the man disappear around the rock face.

Sylvain hadn’t been surprised when he heard the clamor of sailors on the ship. Or when he had heard Felix shout commands as he paced across the deck. Or when he watched the ropes unknot, pulling the ship free from its station.

The tide was in, the wind was good, and it was safer in these seas to sail at night. So he understood it.

But he also wished they had simply listened to his warning. 

Sylvain sighed, eyes on the shadow above him. The moon was still bright, the rays still dancing over the waves. The signs of storm had not yet come over them. But it could soon enough. The sea was unpredictable, changeable. And it was spiteful.

And the sea wasn’t the only problem . . .

He gasped as something wrapped around his tail, snapping him back to a sudden stop. He whipped around, using the strength of his tail to break contact. He curled his fingers, knowing how best to dig in his claws. He’d only get one chance, but he could probably manage.

But the laugh set him off-kilter and he faltered. “Oh, you’re so _tense_ , Sylvie.” The tone wasn’t aggressive, it was affectionate. Almost as soft as the siren who sat before him, her long rosy hair fanning behind her like a cape.

Slowly, Sylvain lowered his guard, letting his irritation hide behind a smile. Anger would do nothing here. As delicate as Hilda attempted to look with the soft curve of her smile, the multitude of fragile jewels around her neck, and the graceful movements of her body, he knew she was a force to be reckoned with. He knew that she could rip apart anything with those claws of hers, with the strength hidden behind slender arms.

But her eyes were glimmering, sparking like pink crystals.

“Ah, look who just ate.” He said, smile pleasant. It was better to play with her when she was being friendly, even if it did mean the ship was rapidly falling out of his view. “Mind sharing your secret stash?”

Hilda swam closer, her claws brushing up his chest. “This is my territory, Sylvain.”

“Can’t make an exception for little old me?”

She smiled sweetly. “No.” Her voice fell into a song, humming as she swam around him. Her tail was so much different than his, the lace of it threatening to catch him in it like a net.

Sylvain sighed dramatically. “Ah, guess I’m made to suffer.”

She laughed, fingers running up his side to the trail of scars knotted there. “I’d let you, you know,” she said, pressing her lips to a scar at his shoulder, “ _if_ you joined our clan.”

Sylvain pulled away with a twirl, hands resting behind his head. Oh, he knew that her leader was interested in him. Sylvain wasn’t an idiot, and he could tell from the multitude of hints and wry smiles directed him. And the guy had to get _some_ credit—he certainly wasn’t the worst of clan leaders out there. His swarm of sirens followed him for a good reason.

But Sylvain had been in a clan before. And it would never happen again. “Groups aren’t really my style.”

Hilda pouted, crossing her arms. “You’d do a lot better with us. It’s not safe to be alone anymore.”

“I’ve managed.”

She sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “Oh _fine_. Have it your way. The offer’s always open. Claude says you’d fit right in.”

Sylvain laughed, shifting his attention in the direction of the ship. He’d have to let his senses lead him; it was too far away to see now. “Oh, I’m sure he does.”

He left, unsurprised that Hilda didn’t follow. She usually didn’t; an addition to the clan would be another mouth to feed, another siren to defend. For Hilda, it would be more work. And he knew her long enough to know that she preferred the game of it, not the expectation—only entertaining otherwise if Claude so insisted.

Sylvain also knew her long enough to know that she saw through him; that she knew he wasn’t like the members of her clan, at least not anymore.

Hilda’s clan were the sort that sailors still sang songs about. Like Sylvain—like all sirens—they had the same hollowness in their souls, but they were less picky when it came to satisfying it. It was easy for them to target the lonely and the desperate, to promise them love and sex and anything physical their lonely hearts could desire. Sailors were easy targets and plentiful; even the largest clans could sustain themselves easily.

Sylvain couldn’t judge them; he was like that, once, for longer than he cared to remember. He knew how to find the lonely man or woman staring out from the ship’s port side, leaning on the railing. He knew how to sing for them, how to make them practically walk off their own ship to come to him. It was so easy to drag them beneath the waves, to make them forget that air wasn’t filling their lungs.

But the taste was never satisfying, and his soul never felt whole for very long.

Maybe that’s why he was playing this game, chasing a ship to a storm. Chasing something unattainable at least meant he could delay the realization that he might never be satisfied.

He paused, closing his eyes. He was close. Very close. But, looking up, he could only see an inky emptiness, finding it impossible to distinguish where sea ended and sky began. Currents pressed insistently along the fins at his sides, urging him to go. His senses urged for him to flee—to leave or to dive deeper—lest the waves carry him away.

But he wasn’t going to lose Felix now.

With a huff, he broke the surface, head snapping around to find the ship. The waves were already tumultuous, cresting far above his head. Any light in the sky had been blotted out by storm clouds, harsh winds pulling them closer together. Even Sylvain was struggling, too easily nauseated from the way the ocean tried to toss him around.

The only thing around him were waves. His senses screamed—but they were pulling him in so many directions that he couldn’t even tell _how_. To run? To stay? To find the ship? To find Felix?

He huffed, dunking his head under the waves once more. The current still tugged at him, but he could _think_. Could seek out the emptiness that resonated so well with his own.

 _There_.

He surfaced again, diving through waves and ducking under the worst of them as they crashed down over him. He was close, so close. That he could still feel Felix meant that he was still alive.

But seeing the ship made him question just how long that would remain so. The ship rocked violently with each wave, tipping more and more every time. Already one of the masts had cracked off, floating uselessly into the water. Sailors shouted and hollered as they tried to balance the ship, barely avoiding getting swept away by waves.

Not far away, Sylvain could see the others of his kind start to gather. After all, what was a brighter beacon than the desire to survive? What could be an easier meal?

But, like him, the other sirens lingered in the distance. Far enough to save themselves, if need be. Close enough to close in and feast, if the opportunity allowed it. The only obstacle to the answer was time.

A large wave broke from the others, pounding against the deck. The rush of water swept a few men over the railings, disregarding their thrashing and their grasping hands. There wasn’t much time for the remaining sailors to mourn, as another wave struck, and then another—the force and frequency far more relentless than before. The ship tipped with the assault, rocking violently along with the waves. When one movement shifted far more than the delicate balance allowed, the ship began to take on water—too much water for it to right itself this time. More water rushed in, the sailors’ scrambling slipping into desperation. 

When the ship was no longer visible, all that remained among the waves were the sailors as they clung to rubble. With their shouts inaudible among the crash of waves, the other sirens took their cue. They swarmed for the feast.

But Sylvain could tell that Felix was not in the rubble. Instead, he let the pull guide him beneath the waves, far beneath the sinking rubble. Deeper, to where Felixwas sinking into the depths, likely pulled down with his ship. 

Sylvain wrapped his arms around the man, tail curling around him. He wasn’t breathing, wasn’t awake. With a huff, Sylvain pressed his ear to Felix’s chest. Past the tumult around him, he could hear a heartbeat there, though it was faint. Sylvain exhaled a sigh of relief.

But, so close, there was something far more alarming. Even now, even with Felix nearly dead, _still_ Sylvain couldn’t so much as taste any desire. Not a desire to live, not a final wish, nothing. Sylvain groaned.

Well, he’d come this far anyway. With a grunt, he dragged the man to the surface. With the air now with them, he gasped for a breath—humans were hardly built for the water, and Sylvain was hardly built to carry two. His muscles screamed, and his tail thrusted irregularly to keep them both afloat.

But he had to keep pushing. Had to pull the man away from the wreckage of the ship. Had to get him away from the other sirens still swarming. Had to get space where he could make sure there wasn’t too much blood tinging the waters. Had to get a spot where the waves were calm enough for him to force the water from Felix’s lungs.

By the time Felix was breathing again—the injury to his head keeping consciousness out of reach—Sylvain could see that many of the sailors had come together on a lifeboat, clinging to each other and dragging the others up into safety. Not that they would be safe for long; the braver of the sirens were still inching closer, their songs contained to pleased hums.

If Sylvain brought Felix back, he could be safe. The growing numbers would drive off the other sirens. And, even if all of the others died, Felix’s lack of desire would make him uninteresting. In the worst case, Felix would be a lone man floating aboard an empty life raft, and Sylvain could carry him away then.

But . . .

 _‘Don’t you know, Sylvain,’_ the voice resonated in his memory, just as easily as the recollection of a lance’s point digging into his shoulder, ‘ _what is thrown to the ocean is ours.’_

Not allowing himself much time to catch his breath, Sylvain dragged Felix away from the doomed shipmates.

By the time Sylvain had let himself collapse on his island sanctuary, the sun was peeking over the horizon, making the sand under him glow golden. The waves, so calm now, lapped at the shore in time with his breaths. A soft breeze blew through the trees at the edge of the beach, brushing over his back. Somewhere off in the distance, birds chirped their morning melodies.

And, as drained as Sylvain was—as much as he wanted to lie here and sleep—he knew his work wasn’t done.

With a groan, he sat up, looking up at the body propped up against the tree. It had been a massive endeavor to bring Felix here, to drag him across the sand to the nearest surface possible, to sit him upright against it. To his pleasure, Felix’s breathing had regulated now, no longer the shallow gasps that had worried Sylvain the whole way here.

And yet still Felix did not wake.

Even when Sylvain had managed to drag driftwood to Felix’s position, had lit with the snap of his fingers, Felix still shuddered. When Sylvain removed Felix’s outer layers to dry them by the fire, Felix didn’t so much as stir. When Sylvain caught a few fish and skewered them, Felix didn’t budge at the smell. And when Sylvain finally got to look at the injury to his head, Felix didn’t even respond to his touch.

Sylvain sighed, claws sliding through Felix’s hair. Part of it had come undone from its tie, but not the part Sylvain needed. With a hum, he cut the tie with his claw, brushing his fingers through strands so they lay straight. Like this, it was easier to guide his claws along Felix’s scalp, to part his hair for a closer look. It didn’t take long to find a dense cluster of bruises and a long gash that ran from temple to the curve of Felix’s ear.

Sylvain cursed himself for his stupidity. If humans were anything like sirens, head injuries were not a good thing to let linger. He’d be lucky if Felix _ever_ woke up.

Sylvain pressed his fingers to the edge of the wound, letting magic swirl around his fingertips. He had to be careful—it was never wise to use magic when exhausted. He had to take it slow, had to let the healing magic seep into the flesh, slow like syrup. He watched intently as the skin stitched together, as color slowly eased out of the bruising.

Like this, he couldn’t tell if the damage was deeper. He could press his magic more insistently—could prod into places his fingers could not reach—but it was risky. Then again, if Sylvain did nothing, he’d risk losing Felix—and all of this would be for naught. Biting his lip, he parted Felix’s hair a little more, palm pressing against his head.

Sylvain froze as a hand clenched around his wrist. The familiar coolness of a blade pressed at his throat.

“What are you doing?” Felix croaked, his voice hoarse from shouts and saltwater.

Sylvain swallowed, feeling the bite of the blade in his skin. He tilted his head back, exposing his throat. “Saving you?”

Felix glared, his expression cold. Slowly, his eyes shifted to his weapon. “Hmph,” he huffed as he pulled the blade away, though only slightly, “you’re either the most harmless siren in the world, or the stupidest.”

Sylvain pulled his hand away from Felix’s hold, glad that Felix let go easily. They were hardly in the state for a fight. “Both?” 

Idly, he pressed his fingertips to his throat, feeling a familiar sting and dampness there. It was fine. It would heal.

Instead, he watched as the man’s gaze snapped around—first to his clothing spread out to dry, then to the fire, then to the deep grooves left by Sylvain’s efforts. Slowly, Felix’s eyes settled on the wide expanse of the ocean. “Why did you save me?”

Sylvain hummed. Well, inquisitive wasn’t nearly as problematic as hostile; he could work with that. He leaned back, curling his tail between them as he idly picked at the seaweed that had weaved into his fins on his venture to shore.

“Well?”

Sylvain tilted his head, tossing the offending kelp aside. “You’re too cute for fish to eat.”

The expression that engulfed Felix’s features was one that Sylvain had never seen on him before. Felix’s cheeks immediately reddened, lips moving as he fumbled for words and failed. His fist clenched and unclenched around his blade, but that seemed more a comfort than a threat. It was actually quite endearing.

And then it vanished entirely into a scowl.

Without warning, Felix jumped to his feet. Sylvain lurched up in instinct as the man immediately swayed, catching Felix’s weight and pulling him down against him. The man thrashed, but his struggles were hardly more than a child’s, muscles without energy. Without much energy himself, Sylvain had to practically throw the man back against the tree.

“Did you,” Sylvain panted, trying to catch his breath, “did you forget you almost died?”

Felix’s glare sharpened, words venomous. “I will not sit idle while a siren mocks me.”

It took all the effort Sylvain had to not roll his eyes. “Look, just rest, won’t you?”

Felix tried to rise again, but was immediately stopped by a firm, clawed hand pinning his knee. His lip curled into a sneer. “I refuse to wait here to die.”

This time Sylvain _definitely_ rolled his eyes. “You aren’t going to die sitting in the sand for a bit.”

Felix’s stomach growled, and the pink returned to his cheeks.

“. . . ah.” Sylvain struggled to repress a laugh, but couldn’t stifle his smile. He affectionately pat Felix’s leg, glancing back at the fish still roasting over the fire. “Hungry?”

Felix looked away.

Sylvain hummed, reaching over and grabbing one of the skewers and offering it to Felix. Felix merely stared at it, his lips pressed together. His stomach growled again.

Sylvain faltered only slightly. “Did I make it wrong?” He shouldn’t have, even as he reconsidered what he’d done. Too often he had seen lovers share a meal by the fire. And those who had been shipwrecked or left alone had done similarly. In all cases, it didn’t look complex, so where had he failed?

Felix snatched the skewered fish from Sylvain’s hand, bringing it into his lap. “It’s fine.”

Sylvain watched as Felix picked around the scales, fingers clumsy as he plucked at the tender flesh beneath. He seemed annoyed that his hands could not move as fast as his stomach needed.

But Sylvain wasn’t surprised. Humans were so inefficient. It was faster to eat the whole thing raw, and easier to eat it in whole. That humans were so finicky about it was absurd. But, then again, perhaps it was because they were so fragile, so delicate. Even if _this_ one was all bluster.

After a while of painful picking, Felix sat the fish aside, leaving the head and fins and tail and some rather good parts. Sylvain—well aware that a man couldn’t be sated with a third of a fish, regardless of size—offered another with a smile. This time it was snatched away from him with far less hesitation.

With a pleased hum, Sylvain took Felix’s scraps, eating with far less delicacy than his company. It was intriguing; the fire gave it a rather distinct and unfamiliar taste. Not good, but not bad, either. Though certainly it was not worth the effort and time.

“What are you doing?” Felix grumbled around a mouthful.

Sylvain licked his lips. “Eating?”

“No.” Felix made a face. His eyes flicked to the fire only briefly before returning to Sylvain. “Helping me.”

Sylvain swallowed down the rest of the fish, licking at his fingertips. “I already told you—”

“Yeah, and that was bull.”

Sylvain sighed. He very much doubted ‘I saved you so I could eat you later’ would go over well. So, a half-truth would have to do. “I was lonely, and you needed help.”

A strange look fell over Felix’s face, but it was only temporary. Instead, Felix’s attention returned to his meal. His movements seemed less urgent, fingers taking more care to get more from his meal.

Sylvain let him eat in peace, looking out to the ocean. The sea was entirely calm now, idyllic in the way it reflected the late morning sun. At least, for now, it could be a paradise.

“Lonely.” Felix muttered, drawing Sylvain’s attention. He offered Sylvain the remnants of his fish, as if that was a fair trade. It was kind of amusing that he completely avoided eye contact, even when offering a gift.

“Yeah, you know,” Sylvain waved his hand nonchalantly before reaching for the scraps, “that feeling you get when you’re alone.”

“There aren’t more of you?” There was a strange edge to Felix’s voice, like he thought other sirens would leap from the rocks at any moment. Which, in any other circumstance, would probably be true.

But this was _his_ territory. And, even if it wasn’t, Felix was hardly a tantalizing meal for anyone but Sylvain.

Sylvain hummed, taking thoughtful bites. “Not here.” He said, tip of his tail flicking at the sand. “They won’t come here.”

Actually, if he thought about it, most of the island should have been harmless for someone like Felix. Sure, Sylvain had no way of looking deep enough inland, but the island was relatively small. Humans hadn’t set foot here in ages, and there wasn’t much food for there to be any sort of predator. If there was, he certainly would have seen at least a trace of one drinking at the rivers, or hunting fish near the shore.

“If you don’t believe me,” Sylvain said, swallowing down the rest of the fish, “you can take a look around.”

“You . . . aren’t planning on keeping me here with you?” Felix’s eyebrows knitted together. His tone wasn’t hostile, but Sylvain could still hear the edge there.

“I’ll help you stay alive till your people come for you, or till you find a way off on your own.” _Or until I finally find something you really, truly want._ “You ate, so at least I don’t have to worry about you falling face-first into the river.”

“That’s . . . generous of you.” Felix made no attempt to hide the disbelief in his tone.

Sylvain shrugged, spreading himself out on the sand. The sun felt pleasant, especially on tired muscles. “I’m nice like that.”

Sylvain rolled onto his stomach, yawning and pressing his face into his arms as the sun warmed his back. He watched with amusement as Felix’s attention shifted to anything but him, his hands and toes inching closer to the fire for warmth. Every so often, he prodded at his clothing, only to scowl at the articles like it was their fault they were wet. 

The sun was high in the sky before Felix could pull his coat back on. But even then, he wasn’t satisfied. He cursed loudly as he tried in vain to get the sand off. He wiped at it, but the sand only clung to his hands, spreading with each of his efforts. Felix’s annoyance only grew with each attempt, clear in the twitch of his lips and the crease between his brows.

Felix’s gaze snapped to Sylvain, eyes narrowing. “Enjoying the show?” He growled.

“Mm, yep.” Sylvain’s grin widened, his tail flicking sand in his amusement.

The flush returned to Felix’s face, and he snapped his gaze away. It was a shame, really; it made Felix’s face look so much less harsh. Made him look, dare Sylvain even think it, nearly attractive.

The man swallowed, a small bead of sweat sliding down his neckline. “Is there . . . water here?”

Sylvain blinked, gesturing to the ocean.

The flush deepened, crawling across Felix’s ears and down toward his chest. It was a shame it was hidden by his shirt and overcoat. “I meant _drinkable_ water.”

“ _Oh_.” Sylvain shifted upright, peering across the beach. “Right. It’s uh . . .” He peered inland, fingers digging into the sand.

If he were to swim, it was easier to enter via the mouth of the river. The area was rocky, but it was relatively flat. But there was no telling how far a human would have to follow it to find something actually drinkable. Alternatively, he could send Felix to the other side of the island, opposite the mouth of the river, but the rapids and falls there could be treacherous for human crossing. Maybe Felix could go along one of the smaller rivers that spread from the main one, but from here Sylvain couldn’t really guess where they started.

“You don’t know, do you?” Felix’s arms crossed.

Sylvain snorted. “There’s a river that cuts through the island. It’s just . . . I don’t . . . usually go on foot. Cuz, you know . . . “

Felix’s eyes snapped to Sylvain’s tail, and his mouth snapped shut.

Sylvain ran a hand through his hair. “Try that way.” He said, pointing closer to the mouth of the river.

Felix’s scowl returned. “’Try’?”

“Look,” Sylvain sighed, “the island’s small. You’ll either find the river or the ocean again. Besides,” he shrugged, “what else do you have to do?”

Felix looked inland, then to the ocean, then to Sylvain. Back inland again. With a huff, he stormed off, quickly disappearing out of Sylvain’s view.

For a while, Sylvain waited. Waited for Felix to get lost or annoyed, coming back to demand Sylvain help him. Or, waited for him to decide that it was too risky to leave a siren alone, and refuse to let him out of sight. Or, even more likely, waited for Felix’s intuition to tell him that it was better to just kill the siren and survive the island on his own.

But Felix didn’t come, and Sylvain had more important things to do than warm himself in the sand.

Sylvain dragged himself back to the ocean, sighing softly as the coolness of the waves clashed with the warmth and dryness of his skin. The currents were so much kinder than the air, brushing against his gills and caressing him like an embrace. 

It was weird that being around Felix made him forget to miss the water. It wasn’t something that would kill him, but yearning for the water was something built into all sirens at birth. Forgetting something natural was . . . impossible.

Perhaps it was a side effect of being so close to his prey. It wasn’t like most sirens lingered with their quarry long enough to see what proximity did to them. And most didn’t let the emptiness linger for too long. So maybe there were other effects that he had yet to consider. Maybe there were more that he could never guess.

Well, if things went like he wanted, he would never find out. Soon, Sylvain would get Felix to want _something_ —even if it was freedom off the island—and Sylvain would finally get to eat. Letting himself be curious or sentimental was nothing more than a distraction.

He paused, eyes falling on a cluster of demolished ships littering the seafloor. The graveyard had been here almost as long as he had, the numbers of wooden corpses piling with the years. Many of the ships had been shorn to pieces, ripped apart by the large rocks that had initially torn into their hulls. Others were a little more intact, save for where they’d been fatally struck. All of them were victims to invisible dangers, to the unpredictable wrath of the sea.

With a small sigh, he swam toward one of the few ships that didn’t look like it would crumble with a sneeze. It was a more recent victim, though already the hinges and locks had rusted. It took only the smallest shove to break down the door. Perhaps a little too pleased with himself, Sylvain slid into the depths of the ship.

He had no care for the decorations and goods that lined the walls. Even if they were vaguely interesting, most were either rusted to an indistinguishable shape or melted entirely, depending on what they were once made of. There were some shelves that might have once had something useful in them, though it was hard to tell when they had half fallen-through to the floors below.

Sylvain stuck his head into each room he passed, just in the vague hope something might be helpful. Most of the rooms consisted of rotting wood and ruined linens. A few had prettier goods—at least a few that weren’t covered in barnacles—but he very much doubted Felix was into ‘pretty’. Sylvain glanced into one of the pretty things that showed his reflection—the cropped hair, the golden eyes, the very defined musculature—and smiled. If Felix was into ‘pretty’, surely he’d be less hostile to Sylvain. With a small chuckle, he plucked a piece of seaweed out of his hair.

A small _tink_ drew his attention. It was slow, but continuous. Not repetitive, no, too irregular for that. But it was strange enough to merit his interest, so Sylvain followed the noise. He moved along the halls—wishing them just a bit wider; he knew he couldn’t exactly blame humans for not putting tails into their design considerations. Still, it would be nice to make it out of this venture with at least one scale still shining.

The sound led him to a closed door. Sylvain pressed against it, thinking it would fall just as easily as the others. No luck. Then he shoved, which was equally as pointless. Yet still the noise taunted him, the _tinks_ more frequent and insistent. And he was _not_ going to be teased by a noise.

With a groan, Sylvain spun around with all the force he could muster, striking at the door with the heavy muscle of his tail. The wood cracked and splintered, leaving him just enough space to squeeze in.

Inhaling sharply, he slid into the narrow hole, grimacing as the sharp points dug at his scales. It was fine—at most they would lose their luster in a couple more places, but they certainly wouldn’t break the skin. Though, if they did, maybe he could use them to guilt Felix a bit.

But that was a thought to toy with later. Sylvain stuffed it to the back of his mind as he took in the new surroundings.

The room was wide, certainly larger than the other rooms within the ship. In the center was the remnants of a table, long since collapsed on itself. But he didn’t care about that. What he cared about was the stack of goods on the opposite end of the room, resting on long stone tables that spread across the entire length. Even from this angle, he could tell that it was an immense variety, certainly enough to amount to at least one thing of use.

Sylvain swam over, taking in the arrangement. There were pots and utensils and other things that he’d seen humans use to cook a hundred times before. Much of it had been destroyed as well, but some of it, well, some of it looked really good. Some of It looked untouched by time and the sea—things that could definitely find another life above the waters.

He lifted one of the pots—a hefty thing that shone like it had been recently polished. He could feel the magic prod against his fingertips. He was familiar enough with it; the magic was common to fallen ships. It was the precautionary sort that humans often attached to goods they cared for. Though, in most cases, the magic did not last long. For this pot, though, he had to give the human who enchanted it credit—the magic certainly outlasted them. And, by the feel of it, it would certainly outlive Felix as well.

He shifted the pot to the floor, digging through the rest of the items there. The _tink_ resonated again, drawing him to the shelves above his head. He swam up, peeking at a long row of bottles. Most of them were full of questionable liquids. Some still bubbled, others had been tainted by the water. A couple were in strange colors and there was one that glowed. The ink on the labels had washed away far too long ago, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to toy with those. So his attention shifted to the few that were empty. Through one, he could see a little crab click at the glass as it moved.

He plucked the glass away, amused as the crab fled further into the shelving.

“Don’t worry, little guy.” Sylvain crooned. “You’re not even worth a snack.”

He pushed the little thing away with the back of his hand, ignoring as it snapped at him. One at a time, he plucked empty glasses from the shelf, setting them carefully into the pot. They weren’t large, but they were big enough; they’d be a good way for Felix to have water on hand without constantly needing to return to the river.

As he dropped a fourth bottle into the pot, his eyes fell onto something shimmering in one of the cabinets. Interested, Sylvain swam over there, the door partially open. He pushed it aside with ease, watching as the shimmering object practically glittered with the shift in light. Left on the floor, too, the poor thing.

But the door didn’t have to open entirely for the sight to send a chill down his spine. He flinched back, trembles lingering in his fingertips. His breath caught in his throat, body still.

No. No he had to see this through.

Swallowing, he moved a bit closer, pressing his fingers against the shining material. The material pulled against him, sticking against his skin like barbs. As he pulled back, some of it dragged with him, making the interwoven structure all the more obvious.

A net. Its shimmer was that of metal fibers, pieces interlocking and easily slide against each other. Any pull in the wrong direction, and the net would cut like knives. Panic stuck in his chest.

It was a siren hunter’s net.

Sylvain’s eyes flicked back to the entrance, finally noticing the remaining evidence of a body there. Clothes had been torn away, the remaining scraps slowly dissolving in exposure. Past the fragmented fabric, Sylvain could see the deep bite marks dug into the bones, far beyond the capabilities of scavenging fish.

Sylvain swam closer, looking the body over. It wasn’t surprising to see one here; at one point or another, this was the inevitable fate of a hunter. They would get cocky, they would slip, and they would fall prey to the very thing they hunted.

Sylvain was almost disappointed that he wasn’t the one who ended this one. It was a mark of pride to end a hunter’s life.

But he was familiar enough with them. Certainly aware enough to know their equipment far exceeded that of normal sailors. They were accustomed to the dangers of the sea, and to the wearing of salty air. Sylvain ran his hand along the tattered sleeves, nails cutting at the fabric as he moved.

There it was. Sylvain smiled, pushing the sleeve fragments aside to reveal something familiar. A hidden dagger was still fastened around the arm. With little care, he tore away the knife and its sheath, only vaguely satisfied at the cracking of the old bones.

He toyed with the sheath in his hands. It wasn’t anything fancy, but the leather had held up well. The magic in it was fading, but still strong enough for his use. When he slid the blade from it, he wasn’t surprised to see a stronger enchantment on the blade. It still shimmered in the limited light, untarnished by the sea and by time. Nicks lined the edge, but they hardly damaged the thing. Small marks were carved into the base, and Sylvain had to wonder if the multitude symbolized his brethren.

Perhaps the hunter enjoyed the hunt as much as the sirens enjoyed theirs.

Sylvain shook his head; there was no reason to compare them. The sirens were still living and thriving. The hunter was going to crumble to nothingness, his ship scavenged to court a siren’s prey.

Sylvain set the knife into the pot, settling it between the bottles. And, even though he was more reluctant about it, he added the net in as well. Such things would make Felix more self-sufficient; perhaps the independence would make him more amendable. Perhaps it would make him see Sylvain as less of a threat and more of an ally.

Or perhaps not, but Sylvain had to at least try.

Sylvain spent a little longer digging through the ship, but there was little else to gain. Besides, he had the feeling that Felix would either get hungry or tired again and would question Sylvain’s absence. So, with his bounty in hand, he swam to the surface.

Felix still wasn’t back, which was good. It meant Sylvain could hide the goods behind the brush, pretend he had nothing to do with it. While it was true that Felix’s comfort would make him more open to Sylvain, it was likely he’d be even _more_ open to it without Sylvain’s involvement.

Sylvain leaned back, looking over his work. The haul was almost entirely hidden; the only thing visible was the net draped over the entirety, shimmering only when he leaned in a specific direction. Possibly Felix wouldn’t be able to see it for a while, but all it would take was one of his irritated paces for it to catch his eyes. Then Sylvain could innocently bat his lashes and all would be good.

A yawn tore its way through Sylvain’s body, bringing tears to the corners of his eyes. This had, very possibly, been more work than he had the stamina for.

With a groan, he pulled himself back to the sand still warmed by the sun, just by the fire. It was less appealing here, but he’d have to make do; he lacked the energy to head back to the ships, and sleeping in the open water was a good way to get himself eaten.

So, while it wasn’t preferable, he rolled onto his stomach, tail curling so the long fins rested over his back. His face pressed into his arms, nuzzling against them as he made himself comfortable. Sleeping here was risky but, well, if Felix was going to kill him, perhaps it would be better if it was done in his sleep.

When he woke, the sky was a deep orange, the sun kissing the horizon. A small breeze brushed through his hair, dragging dry sand with it. A slow dragging noise meshed with the sound of the waves and the crackle of the fire, constant and redundant. It was very nearly a lullaby, wishing Sylvain to sleep once more.

But he didn’t know this sound. His body rejected the very thought of sleeping with it so near his head.

Sylvain yawned dramatically, turning his head to look at the fire. More sticks had been added to the pile, haphazardly stacked on top of the half-burnt driftwood. The fire blazed a bit stronger now, but it didn’t seem any point of concern.

Felix settled behind it, sharpening a thick stick with an old hunter’s knife. His gaze was focused on his work, but it didn’t seem malicious. It was almost like it was a craft he was proud of, a duty that needed to be done. And his work wasn’t half bad, really, at least for a glorified twig with a point.

“You’re a reckless fool.” Felix muttered, not looking at him. He lifted the stick, looking over the tip. His blade dragged at it again.

Sylvain sat up slowly, rubbing at his eyes. “Mm?”

“Sleeping with an enemy so close.”

Sylvain yawned again. “You’re not my enemy.”

Felix froze, setting his project down and sheathing the knife. “You don’t know that.”

Sylvain smiled, flicking the sand with his tail. “I’m pretty sure.” He mused. “You could have killed me, but you didn’t.” He shook the sand from his hair. “I would have fed you for, what, a week?”

Felix’s lip twitched into a near-facsimile of a smile. “You’re a strange one.”

“You know, the others tell me that all the time.”

“Others?” Felix’s eyebrows knitted together.

“Ah.” Sylvain glanced over, keeping his smile level. It was almost too easy; an ‘accidental’ slip. A small vulnerability in a man-eating beast. All Sylvain had to do was offer a truth in exchange for an ounce of trust. “The other sirens. They call me weird, too.”

“I see.” Felix glanced down at the knife, thinking. “Must be your hair.”

Sylvain barked a surprised laugh. “What _about_ my hair?”

“It’s short.”

 _Like your responses_. “I kept getting it caught in kelp.” He complained, shaking his head. “Besides, this suits me better, don’t you think?”

Pink dusted Felix’s cheeks as he looked away. “It’s passable.”

Sylvain grinned. “Thanks.”

Silence lingered between them for far too long.

The way Felix shattered it was no relief. “You said the other sirens wouldn’t be around.”

“They aren’t.”

“But—”

Sylvain smiled. “You don’t think I live only here, do you? After all, we met at that port town.”

Well, Sylvain had seen him _ages_ before that, when the sea had been calm and the man had been practicing on the deck of his ship. When the flash of his blade reflected the color of the sea, and his clothes dampened with his exertion. When all it took was a good look to see that hollowness behind practiced moves and rehearsed words. Just a glance to know that Felix was _the one_.

Sylvain licked his lips to distract himself from the thought. “Where do you think my kind usually hangs out?”

“On rocks in the middle of the ocean, combing your hair and singing nonsense to each other.” It would almost be funny, if Felix wasn’t so deadpan in his delivery.

Sylvain didn’t bother stifling his giggle. “Ok, maybe I am _exceedingly_ weird, then.”

Felix smiled. “Yeah, I think you are.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, for those who did notice, I've expanded from two chapters to 4. I don't plan on extending it again.   
> As repayment, chapters 2 and 3 are going to be posted very close together. Chapter 4 might take a little while.

“Any luck?” Sylvain asked, eyes following Felix as the man walked across the sand to their little camp. His hair seemed violet with the red of the sunset, the braid starting to fall out from his exertion of the day. Felix would fix it again—the man hardly ever let his hair down—but at least like this Sylvain could imagine it. He would probably make some sirens jealous. Probably.

Felix huffed, sitting by the fire. He reached into his net, pulling out one fish, then another. He was meticulous as he prepped them, taking his time before setting them into the pot to simmer.

Sylvain blinked. “That’s it?” His lips pressed together; sure, two was good in general—but not when they were barely large enough to serve as one meal combined. “You were fishing all day.”

Felix glared. “You were braiding rope all day. How’s that going?”

Sylvain grimaced, looking at the shreds of thatch in between his fingers. The whole process of braiding it wasn’t complex—it was relaxing, even—but Sylvain lacked the talent for it. A whole day of work, and he only had a strand the length of his forearm. In his defense, his claws were hardly meant for cutting, not cooperating with delicate tasks, so they just kept slicing through all his progress.

“Well, the net should have done most of the work for you.” Sylvain grumbled, dropping his work. He shifted his attention to pick at the splinters stuck into the webbing between his fingers. It wasn’t painful, but it was certainly bothersome. He probably had more splinters in his hands than woven into the rope.

Felix sat beside him, rolling his eyes. “You’re the one who wanted to try it.”

“Well, yeah. You made it look easy.”

Felix’s lips twitched. He shook the pot slightly to keep the fish from sticking to the bottom. “Maybe you should stick to the fishing, and I’ll stick to the raft-making.”

Sylvain smiled, shaking his head as he moved toward the water. “Yeah, else I’ll starve.”

He dipped beneath the waves just in time to avoid Felix’s curses.

His smile fell rapidly. This whole thing between them should have been alarming.

It wasn’t so much that they’d fallen into a rhythm as they’d started to . . . rely on each other. Felix knew that Sylvain was the better fisher—that he could make up for Felix’s frankly horrendous fishing skill—and would always make sure they had something filling to eat. Felix also knew that his inquiries, few as they were, were hardly ever questioned; sometimes Sylvain would offer him the whole truth, and sometimes he wouldn’t. He also could rely on the fact that Sylvain was open to helping him with his raft, that at least he didn’t have to worry about the siren destroying it. Finally, Felix also knew that he could ask Sylvain to bring more items from the fallen ships below the waves, though it did mean he had to tolerate Sylvain’s curious prying.

Sylvain knew that Felix would always be there until Sylvain woke up—he’d practice his swordsmanship drills, or try to fish nearby, or work on his raft, but he’d never leave until Sylvain was awake. Likewise, Sylvain knew that Felix would keep the fire stoked so the fish could be cooked easily, and that he’d always be at camp before the sun set. And Sylvain knew that—if he wanted to learn something that the sailor would be reluctant to share—he needed only to bring something exceptional from the ships’ bones.

But Sylvain also couldn’t pretend this was normal. There was only one exchange acceptable for sirens. What he was doing now was a problem. A problem that made him forget—even momentarily—how hollow he was, but a problem nonetheless.

Movement shifted in his periphery and he struck an arm out, his claws digging into a fish big enough to feed them both on its own. He clung to the thing, watching for a moment as it thrashed in futility. It would be better to just kill it outright, but Felix wasn’t exactly the biggest fan of teeth marks in his food.

He sighed, heading back to shore. This would be a problem for another day. For now, he could simply pretend it didn’t exist.

Sylvain sighed, tail flicking as he watched Felix pick at the fish. The man had gotten better at getting water, at avoiding burning in the sun, and at adventuring. Still, much to Sylvain’s disdain, he still plucked at his food like a bird. Scrap by scrap, certainly no single bite satisfying.

To be fair, Sylvain had already downed the scraps of the other two, and Felix had been equally repulsed by his gluttony—but at the very least Sylvain was _right_.

“I’ve been wondering . . .” Felix started, staring at the fire.

“Questions before dinner is done?” Sylvain teased. “How scandalous.”

Felix scowled. “Forget it.”

Sylvain laughed, tail flicking and curling around him. “I’m just teasing. Ask away.”

Felix stared into the fire, fingers still as if his meal had been forgotten. His lips pressed together, expression uncertain.

Sylvain leaned a bit closer, smile playful. “Forget what it was?”

“No!” Felix spat, glare back and as fierce as ever. His expression fell quickly though, sliding back into unease.

“Well?”

He exhaled softly. “What happened to your gills?”

Sylvain’s hand immediately went up to the gills at his neck. He’d hadn’t been out of the water too long, so he was sure they hadn’t dried out or started doing any weird fluttering. And he was pretty sure he hadn’t tangled with anything sharp there, at least not recently. Even under his fingers, they felt normal. “Nothing?”

“Not those.” Felix shook his head. “The one on your side.”

“Ah.” Sylvain’s hands slowly moved away from his neck, instead sliding down to curl into his lap. He didn’t have to look, didn’t have to feel, to know what Felix meant.

On a siren’s sides were the gills meant for the sea. They were long and strong, spreading from just beneath the armpit to where skin turned to scales. These were the ones that made siren stamina practically boundless, shooting through the water with little effort and energy. Sirens were meant to thrive in the sea, and their gills were designed to make long trips effortless.

Sylvain’s, however, were mangled. A long gash sliced across all of his gills on one side, the scar thick and deep. It made his gills flutter oddly in the water, made it harder to catch his breath in the sea. But it was nothing like those on the other side; there, two deep rings of scar tissue curved against his skin, the mess of scar tissue making that side useless.

He swallowed down the memory, instead tossing a stick into the fire. “The sea’s a dangerous place.” He muttered. “You live long enough and you won’t make it out unmarred.”

“Does it hurt?”

“No.” Sylvain shook his head. “It’s just a bother. I . . . can’t swim as far as I used to.”

“I see.” Felix’s eyebrows scrunched together, gaze sliding over Sylvain’s torso. “It must have been fast to catch you, whatever it was.”

It took everything Sylvain had not to pull away. Instead, he watched as the embers danced in the flames.

“Is that why you travel alone?”

Sylvain’s gaze languidly slid over. Felix was looking directly at him, expression intense. Sylvain could hardly tell if it was an interrogation or just bored curiosity. “Yeah.” He muttered. “To feed a big clan, you need to travel pretty far. I couldn’t make those journeys if I tried.”

“Are you . . . okay with that?”

Sylvain shrugged. Before, he’d told himself that it was fine. That it was a necessity. That he couldn’t keep up, and so he was useless to a clan. When that hadn’t satisfied, he convinced himself that it was too risky to devote himself to another group, when his clan had been the one to hurt him in the first place. But it had never soothed the aching loneliness—sirens were pack creatures, and here he was alone.

But, with Felix, he didn’t feel it so much anymore.

Maybe that was why he skirted the rules. Why he made exceptions that no other siren would dream of. “I am now.”

As the days passed, Sylvain lost count of how many times the sun had dipped below the horizon. It seemed kind of pointless to count—Felix wasn’t suffering from his stay, and their rhythm had settled to the point where it was no longer mere acts of survival.

Sylvain found that Felix had a _multitude_ of questions, but he consistently limited himself to one per day. If he had any derivative questions, it was always related to the first one—a way to flush out anything Sylvain might have left out. Sylvain couldn’t quite tell if he asked this way because he didn’t want to seem interested, or because he didn’t want to antagonize the man-eating beast. Perhaps it was a combination of the two.

At first, it seemed to be casual questions about sirens in general. What they ate, if they needed sleep like humans did, how far they could normally travel, how deep they could travel underwater, things like that. The questions were fairly harmless, so Sylvain answered those openly.

After those, though, came the more personal questions. Where Sylvain had come from, where his family was, how long he’d been alive, what he did before this—things Sylvain was far less comfortable divulging. They were things not even the other sirens knew.

Sometimes he had to divulge more than he wanted, just to keep Felix from pressing further, but most times his answers were kept short—offering just enough to keep Felix sated. Besides, Felix was getting rather predictable when it came to asking questions, giving Sylvain plenty of time to figure out how to be clever.

“So,” Felix glanced over at Sylvain, prodding the fish still simmering in his pot, “can I ask you something?”

Sylvain hummed, pulling his mouth away from his meal mid-bite. He licked his lips, just in case some scales lingered there. “Haven’t stopped you yet.”

Felix inhaled softly. “Did you get that,” he motioned vaguely to a knot of scars along his tail, “the same time as the one on your gills?”

Sylvain exhaled softly, smile on his lips. Well, this was an easy one. He could divulge more without any consequence. “No, I didn’t. This was much, much later.”

“What happened?”

Sylvain hummed, tilting his head. “How familiar are you with siren hunters?”

Felix swallowed, looking away. “Not very.”

It was interesting, Sylvain noted, how quickly Felix collapsed in on himself. It didn’t seem like it was sadness or anger. Maybe guilt? Regret, even? Perhaps Felix had once wanted to be a siren hunter and failed. It would actually suit him—far more than the merchant nonsense did.

Maybe, though, Felix worried about the bad memories this would conjure.

Sylvain smiled; this was a triviality. “Well,” he reached by them, pulling the siren net to him with careful claws, “this is a siren net. Made _specifically_ to hunt my kind.”

Felix winced, but said nothing.

So Sylvain continued. “For the most part, it works like a normal net.” With a hum, he gathered some of the metal strands between his fingers, enveloping his dinner in the center. “You know, fish goes in, gets stuck.”

Felix nodded.

“The thing about siren nets, though, is that they’re made of like a million intertwined knives. You pull one way, your catch pulls the other,” he tugged at the fish’s tail, twisting his other wrist at the same time, and the metal dug deep into the flesh, “and you have them.”

Felix’s gaze snapped to the fish, focused in a way that even made Sylvain squirm. He swallowed roughly. “How did you get out?”

Sylvain shrugged, starting to untangle his meal. It was an utter mess—too much force had nearly cut the poor fish in two. “My natural charm.” Well, that and the sense to stay very, _very_ still when he realized he was caught.

Felix snorted. “Yeah right.” The tension in his shoulders had eased, and he pulled his meal from the fire. He placed it in front of him, but he hadn’t started eating yet. Instead, he prodded at it, jaw clenched much tighter than it should be. “Really. How did you manage it?”

Sylvain opened his mouth and closed it again.

Felix merely stared, realization showing in the widening of his eyes. “You killed him.”

Suddenly Sylvain wasn’t too interested in his meal, either. He dropped it on top of the net. “Yeah.”

Felix stiffened. “How?”

To answer was a bad move. To not answer was even worse. “Hunters aren’t supposed to have desires; he did. So I just . . . granted them.”

“What,” Felix’s voice got very quiet, the look in his eyes sending all of Sylvain’s instincts alight with fear, “what did he want.”

Sylvain swallowed, tail flicking on instinct to ease his tension. He wanted to run. He wanted to sink his teeth into Felix and be done with it. “To see his daughter again.”

It was like a tense cord in Felix’s spine had been cut. His head dropped, expression nearly unreadable. He wavered where he sat, shoulders falling and unable to hold his weight. There was a small shaking to his whole frame, but Sylvain couldn’t tell why.

“You alright?” He asked.

“You don’t . . . grant anything.” Felix hissed. His gaze snapped up to meet Sylvain’s; it was angry, but there was far less vitriol than before.

Well, there was no walking himself out of this one. “Why? Because it’s an illusion?”

“Yes!” Felix’s face was red now, eyes shining in a way that Sylvain hadn’t seen on his face before. “You take everything,” the man growled, “and give nothing in return.”

“That’s unfair.” Sylvain frowned, tilting his head. He remembered the song he sang to the hunter, the way the magic weaved their souls together. He could see the blond girl waving for her father, eyes bright and smile wide. He could feel the way her arms wrapped around the hunter, even as Sylvain’s teeth and claws dug in. “Isn’t it enough to get a happiness you’ve been craving, well, forever?”

“But it’s not _real_.”

“Does it matter if you’re going to die?” He ran a hand through his hair. “I’d give anything to just feel a _taste_ of happiness before I died.” True, he felt _something_ when he consumed his prey. But being whole didn’t make him happy. It just made him . . . less empty. He’d sell his own tail if it meant he could be happy. “Kinda seems the same for you humans.”

Something flickered behind Felix’s expression. He sat up, chin held high and expression shuttered behind a wall Sylvain couldn’t dream of deciphering. “Then what would you show me?”

Sylvain sighed and fell into the sand. He rolled onto his back, staring up at the stars. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.”

He ran his hand through his hair, bringing it down to rub harshly over his face. Sure, there was _something_ there. Felix wasn’t as empty as he had once been. But it wasn’t strong enough for Sylvain to know _what_. It wasn’t a desire to leave the island; while that was there, Sylvain could tell it was a passing thought, and arbitrary ‘what if’. Sometimes, he could tell Felix wanted something other than fish and river water—but that, too, was an afterthought more than a desire.

No matter how Sylvain’s magic prodded as the desire, looked for just a crack to find purchase, it was hopeless.

He glanced over at Felix, feeling his own smile fragile on his lips. “I honestly don’t.”

Felix’s lips pressed together into a tight line. “I suppose that’s good.” He muttered. He looked away, glaring down at his meal. “Would you eat me if you did?”

Sylvain’s gaze shifted back to the sky, listening to the sound of the waves. The answer used to come so easily before. The lie used to fall so easy from his tongue, the smile simple, while beneath he could just preen himself over the thought of how good Felix would taste someday.

But now he wasn’t so sure. Killing Felix would take away the only company he’d had in decades. It would take away his nightly amusements, his casual conversation partner. It would take away the reluctant smiles and petulant glares.

And he wasn’t sure if he could take that.

“I don’t know.”

Normally, sleep wasn’t so hard. Especially lately, when he knew that either he or Felix would wake when the waves licked up too high or a storm threatened on the horizon or anything like that. There had been something comforting in knowing that there was someone else—someone who would be so sensitive to the foreignness of ocean and island that he’d certainly wake if Sylvain didn’t.

But not tonight.

Tonight, he stared up at the stars, watching as they slowly moved above him. It wasn’t anxiety—he didn’t fear Felix, even if he knew their conversation had left the man unsettled. Sure, Felix had absolutely refused to talk to him, refused to even look at him, but no part of that had seemed murderous. So it wasn’t fear—it was something else. Something else that caused the unease in Sylvain’s gut, curled in a way that made it impossible to sleep.

Well, he had to at least try. He exhaled sharply through his nose, forcing his eyes shut. He’d be miserable come morning if he didn’t get at least one hour. And a miserable siren made for a poor hunter.

He tried to focus on the sound of his own breathing. Then on the sound of the waves. Then the slight rustle of leaves as the smallest breeze blew through the trees.

But there was another sound there that was unusual. The crunch of sand, not far away. Slow in the way it ground, sluggish in its repetition. But definitely, undeniably there.

When he opened his eyes, he wished he felt anything other than an aching hollowness.

Felix knees were on either side of his waist, blade tip hovering over his chest. It wavered there—not quite shaky—but uncertain. Felix’s eyes narrowed as he glared down, so focused that he was oblivious that Sylvain was watching him.

“My heart’s not there.” Sylvain said, voice soft and gentle.

Felix twitched, the motion so violent that the blade cut a shallow gash across Sylvain’s skin. He pulled back briefly, only for the blade to be pointed at Sylvain once again. “ _What_.”

Sylvain hummed, wrapping his fingers around Felix’s wrist. He could feel the man struggle, but it was rather futile in comparison to Sylvain’s strength. He led the blade from his chest, and pointed it directly at his throat. “Just do it here. Guarantee you’ll kill anything if you go for the throat.”

Felix’s fingers trembled in Sylvain’s grasp. “You aren’t going to fight back?”

“You have a knife to my throat,” Sylvain smiled, “what could _I_ do?”

Felix’s eyes widened, his entire body going rigid. Even his hand froze, the knife no nearer or further from Sylvain’s throat. If it weren’t for the way the wind blew through his bangs, or the stars kept moving above them, Sylvain might have thought time stopped.

Something snapped. Felix leapt away, hardly sparing a glance before he fled into the depths of the island. Sylvain could hear him press through the brush and trees, his hard breathing audible even when he was far out of sight. Wood cracked and shattered as pounding footsteps ran through the brush. 

And then there was silence.

Sylvain merely lay there, staring at the sky. His chest still stung as the wind bit at him, but even now he could feel it healing. An hour, and it would be as good as new.

And in an hour, feasibly, Felix would return to finish what he started.

Logically, the smart thing to do would be to return to the ocean. The bleeding had stopped, so he wouldn’t attract anything unwanted. He could just go far past the horizon, back to the port towns or to other islands or ships. He could just run away forever and leave Felix to rot here.

But Sylvain was never logical. If he had been, he wouldn’t have told Felix that stabbing him in the chest would have been pointless. He wouldn’t have shown him his weakness. He would have let Felix _try_ , laugh, and then end him there and then. He would have known that no meal was worth his life, not even the most tantalizing one he’d ever had.

With a sigh, he rolled onto his stomach, pillowing his head with his arms. Exhaling softly, he closed his eyes. In time, his breaths followed the timing of the waves lapping at the shore.

Perhaps it was just easier to sleep with the thought that he might not ever have to worry about waking.

Sylvain wasn’t sure what woke him first—the sound of creaking wood or a familiar smell that made his stomach grumble. He groaned, burrowing his face deeper against his arms. He just wanted to sleep, or not exist, or perhaps something in between. His sleep had been restless, his dreams cruel.

But his hunger won out against his will, and he lifted his head with a bleary blink.

In front of him, situated on a small platter made of shorn bark, were two cooked fish. They were roasted golden, the smell tantalizing. Warmth radiated off them, but it wasn’t overbearing as if they’d just come off the fire. If he had to guess, they’d been here for a little while.

“I’m sorry.”

Sylvain’s gaze snapped up at the words, falling upon the man sitting on the other side of the still-burning fire. He didn’t look at Sylvain; eyes far too focused on the rope he was weaving. But, even so, Sylvain could tell that his cheeks were red and his eyes were puffy—and it was very likely that he’d slept as poorly as Sylvain did.

Sylvain sat up, tail instinctively curling around him and his meal. “What for?”

Felix still didn’t look at him. “For trying to kill you last night.” He swallowed, jaw clenched tight. “I . . . guess I let our conversation get to me.”

Sylvain swallowed. Too easily, a relaxed smile fell onto his lips, and he took the fish in his hand. He took a bite, talking as he chewed. “You aren’t the first guy who threatened to kill me, and I doubt you’ll be the last.”

Felix’s fingered stilled, eyes fixing on Sylvain’s.

“That, uh, wasn’t a threat, by the way.”

The ghost of a smile tugged at Felix’s lips. “Eat before it gets cold.”

Sylvain’s lips quirked, and Felix looked away—back to focusing on his work once more. And Sylvain, not one to want to waste food, enjoyed his meal in the relative silence of the morning. He took his time, enjoying the pleasant warmth of the sun, the lack of wind, the easy waves. Even as Felix started making more noise, stringing some of his large logs together with his newly-made rope, it was relaxing.

Sylvain licked at the remnants on his fingers as Felix fell against the raft that was slowly coming together. “Not bad,” he mused, “you might actually start to be self-sufficient.”

Felix snorted, leaning against the log. “No thanks.” He said, very nearly smiling. “I spent all morning for those two.”

“Oh.” Sylvain blinked. He opened his mouth, closed it again, then opened it once more. It wasn’t hard to imagine Felix struggling in the water, net or not—sweating and cursing as each attempt fell into failure. And it wasn’t hard to imagine that Sylvain’s breakfast had been the only two he’d caught. Heat simmered in his cheeks. “Do you, uh, need me to get you something to eat?”

Felix snorted, crossing his arms as his gaze slid across the water. “I don’t—” he froze, entire body going rigid, “is that a ship?”

Sylvain’s attention snapped to the sea, heart stopping in his chest. It was a potential—an inevitability, really. Someday, some sailors would get thrown by storms, or lost, or simply attempt a detour. Someday, Felix would notice them, and he would hail them. And, someday, Felix would be gone. But, even knowing that, it was far too soon.

And, more notably, Sylvain didn’t see a single ship.

“Uh,” he said, blinking, “I don’t see anything.”

“ _What_.” Felix hissed, storming up from his seat and kneeling by Sylvain, pointing at nothing. “Right there!”

Sylvain squinted. Nothing. Then he tilted his head. Still nothing. Only the rolling of waves in a calm sea.

The sneer in Felix’s voice was audible. “You’re joking.” His fingers ran through his hair. “How can I see it but not you?”

Realization snapped into Sylvain like a jolt of lightning. The flashes of memory came just as painfully, jerking him just as violently.

_Sharp teeth in a broad smile. Blood tainting the water further than the eyes could see. A harsh laugh, grinding into his ears like gravel._

His hand shot up, fingers curling around Felix’s arm.

Felix immediately tried to pull away, but it was futile. “Sylvain, let—”

“I need you to hide.” Sylvain said, breathless. His fingers pressed more into Felix’s skin as he stared out at the ocean. “Please. Inland. Behind the trees, or the rocks—anywhere.”

Felix gasped, trying harder to pull away. “Release me.”

Sylvain didn’t listen, his other hand reaching up to grab Felix’s shirt, dragging him down to the floor. Sylvain’s hands grabbed at either side of Felix’s face, claws pricking at Felix’s scalp to warn him against struggling.

The panicked look on Felix’s face tore at something in his chest, but he didn’t have the time for that.

“Listen to me.” Sylvain said, voice low and commanding. “ _Please_. If they find you, you’ll die.”

Felix’s eyes flicked to the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, please tell me what you think! I don't do AU's very often, so I'm really hoping this is enjoyable!


	3. Chapter 3

Felix sighed, leaning back against the boulder, staring up at clouds passing over him. He was too far away from the shore to hear the waves—there was only the sound of the river’s flow in the distance, obscured only occassionally by his slow breaths.

This was stupid.

He shouldn’t have listened to Sylvain. He should have just hailed the ship and be done with it. It would be easy to negotiate a way to a port town, find a way to survive from there. He’d had to do it once before, so it wouldn’t be a particular challenge now.

But, despite the way his common sense _screamed_ at him to defy the siren, there was something in Sylvain’s expression that Felix couldn’t argue against. Sylvain’s expression wasn’t one of those carefully-curated ones he got whenever Felix asked about something particularly sensitive, nor was there any indication that the siren had just been teasing. In truth, he had looked completely, utterly terrified.

But sitting here was stupid. It wasn’t like Felix would know when the problem had passed; he wouldn’t be able to hear Sylvain from here, and Felix was too far away from water for the siren to come find him.

So was he supposed to sit here forever?

_Yes_ , a foolish, traitorous part of him taunted. The part that knew him best, that knew he would stay here till his stomach ate at itself and his patience was torn to shreds. The part that chided him constantly for acting like a fool, for pretending that blindly following a siren’s orders because he looked a little _sad_. He shoved that part to the back of his mind, trying instead to focus on the things he still had to do. 

It was much harder to shove those thoughts aside hours later, when the clouds had passed over completely and the sky had gradually taken on an orange hue. They jabbed at him as his back ached from sitting so long against the rocks, his tailbone cracking as he adjusted his position. They were far more insistent as he felt a hollow ache had seeping into his muscles, a throbbing in the back of his skull. The more he moved, the more his stomach grumbled at him, and the more his mind cursed at him.

When a deep purple began to spread across the sky, Felix’s patience shattered entirely.

With an irritated huff, he rose from his spot, but his legs defied him. He lurched forward against his will, forced to lean hard against the boulder. His legs stung as blood flow returned to them, pain seeping in before any other sensation. He curled his toes to combat it, but it was so minimally effective that it only ground more at his irritation.

Sylvain was seriously going to have to make this up to him.

Felix exhaled slowly, trying to ignore the pain as he pushed himself upright. Each step sent small jolts of pain up his legs, but he had to move. He made his way across the island, his steps more cautious than he had been in ages.

It was agonizing to step around the thin branches on the ground, to duck around the ones that wished to brush against his coat. He’d tried a direct route, but there was no amount of caution that would get him through the thick foliage silently. Instead, he had to take the long way around, trekking twice the distance to avoid alerting . . . whatever it was Sylvain was alert about.

While he didn’t think Sylvain’s concerns were actually justified, it would be infuriating for the siren to be right. And Sylvain was definitely the kind of guy to gloat about it . . . if Felix didn’t botch whatever it was that he was doing.

When he reached the shore, he wished he’d ignored Sylvain entirely.

There was no ship on the waters. No sign of a shipwreck, either—no floating wood, no scattered goods, no struggling people. There was only a siren laid out at the barrier between sand and sea, the waves around him dyed crimson. Even Felix knew the small pool of blood in the sand directly around him was deceptive, unable to imagine how much had already seeped into the earth.

The sight soured his stomach, forcing Felix to swallow down the acid on his tongue. All sense of decency abandoned him as he ran to Sylvain’s side, sliding in the sand as he dropped to his knees. He reached out to touch him, but froze and trembled against his will; he couldn’t find any place to touch that wasn’t covered in deep and still-bleeding lacerations.

Like this, Felix couldn’t even tell if he was breathing.

He had to know. Felix was not one to do nothing—not a man to wait and let fate answer things for him. So, with perhaps far less care than required, he rolled the siren onto his back. Sylvain’s groan lifted some of the weight off his chest, but not all of it.

Slowly, Sylvain blinked up at Felix, his gaze distant and unfocused. A poor imitation of a smile rested on his lips. “Ha . . . you stayed away for . . . a long time. Thanks.”

Felix twitched. “What happened?”

Sylvain exhaled slowly, shaking his head. His voice sounded strained, like each word cut into his throat. “No boat. There wasn’t . . . any boat.”

Somehow, Felix could believe him. No boat harassed by a siren would avoid an easy rest place. If they thought the siren was dead, they’d pursue it for the profit. Perhaps come to the island to see what it had collected. And if Sylvain had destroyed them, then the evidence of wreckage would still be visible on still waves. But if it wasn’t real, then why did it seem like it had been? Why did it feel like he was nearly close enough to hear sailors’ voicing yelling from the bow?

Felix swallowed, gaze flicking to Sylvain’s tail—the only real tell he had ever found to deciphering Sylvain’s moods. It was still, but that was probably due to the dozens of lacerations that dug deep into the scales, or perhaps the way much of the fin had been shredded.

It was now that Felix realized that the only moving parts of Sylvain’s body were his chest as he breathed shallow breaths, and his lips as he spoke rasping words. Everything else was still—alarmingly so.

“Tell me what you need.” He said, voice low.

Sylvain pressed his lips together. His fingers twitched, but it was clear his arms wouldn’t cooperate with his will. “Can you drag me to the river?” He asked, voice uncertain and unsteady. “I . . . can’t heal here.”

Felix nodded, shifting so his hands could slide easily behind Sylvain’s lower back and under his tail. It was hard to find a good place for his hands, so he had to settle for holding him near the shallower cuts. Sylvain whined, but it wasn’t nearly as alarming as the yelp Sylvain made when Felix lifted him in one smooth motion.

“Sorry.” Felix muttered, not sure where he could put his hands where it wouldn’t hurt. Putting Sylvain down again was out of the question, but—

“Y-you didn’t hurt me.” Sylvain said, voice strained and cheeks flushed. “I’m good.”

In any other situation, Felix might have addressed that—or, at the very least, turned some of Sylvain’s teasing back on him. But now was hardly the time or place.

“Arms around my neck, if you can.” Felix said instead, trying to keep his voice soft. Sylvain wasn’t exceptionally heavy—no more so than one of the Azure Moon’s larger barrels—but he was just awkward enough that Felix could almost imagine him tumbling forward as he navigated the rocks. The siren’s human-like body was too light, and his tail was far too heavy. A way to center the weight would make it easier and safer.

Sylvain obliged, pressing through his pained gasps as cuts brushed against Felix’s coat. A hand settled between Felix’s shoulders, the other curling into the hair at the nape of his neck. His hold was surprisingly careful—Felix could feel the way his fingers bent to press the pads of his fingers against Felix’s skin, avoiding any contact with the claws. Of course, Felix could only mind that for a moment, too easily distracted by the way Sylvain pressed his nose against the curve of Felix’s neck.

Felix struggled not to tense as he started to walk. He’d seen Sylvain’s teeth, knew what they would be capable of. All it would take was a bad movement—a shock of pain—and those teeth would clamp down and kill him instantly. But, as he walked along the path of the shoreline toward where the river opened into the sea, he realized that not one of Sylvain’s startled gasps led to teeth in his skin—instead, the siren merely pressed his face more insistently against Felix’s jawline and neck. It wasn’t painful or threatening in any way, but there was something about the way Sylvain’s forehead and nose pressed against his skin that made his heart pound.

Felix was grateful when he saw the place where the sea met the river. There, he could focus on his path upriver, on navigating around rocks and inconsistencies in the land. He could focus on tracking the water and his distance from the sea. He could keep his attention to finding a place where the river was safe enough to stay, but where the currents wouldn’t aggravate any injuries. He had to focus on something, just to _not_ think about the words that Sylvain mouthed against his collarbone.

It took longer than he would have liked, but he did eventually stumble on a suitable place. It was funny; he was familiar enough with the area, with the boulders that had fallen into the river from the nearby hills, breaking up the water’s flow into smaller pockets. Too often he’d come here to refill his own water, finding solace in the sound of a gentle current.

It was easy to find a place where a rock had split ages ago, one half butting up against the water’s edge, and the other cutting into the river’s flow. With some care, he shifted to slide Sylvain into the water. He winced at Sylvain’s pathetic whine, watching as the water turned darker the more the siren sank in. It turned his stomach.

Eventually, Sylvain had sunk in nearly completely, only his eyes and hair above the water. His fingers pressed into the stone at Felix’s feet to keep himself in place.

Felix exhaled sharply through his nose, too easily noticing the way the siren’s fingers trembled as they struggled to maintain their grip on something that offered little resistance. With a sigh, he seated himself on the edge, rolling up his pants before dipping his legs into the water.

Sylvain took the cue too easily, his fingers wrapping around Felix’s calves and his cheek pressed against Felix’s thigh. His sigh was small, but even Felix could hear the sliver of contentment in it.

Felix was quiet as he watched the water slowly clear in their temporary sanctuary. Now, he could see that the waters were so clear here; Felix could see the pebbles and river rocks far below them, could see the way Sylvain’s tail shifted as he kept himself afloat. Here he could see that the cuts there weren’t healing shut, but the bleeding had certainly stopped, as his injuries weren’t dying the water any further.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” Felix asked, though it was hardly a question.

Sylvain closed his eyes, exhaling softly. “You saw an illusion. A siren illusion.”

Well, that was obvious enough. If it wasn’t still there, and there was no sign of it, it _had_ to be fake. But that didn’t explain _why_ he had seen it. Felix snorted. “I wouldn’t sacrifice my life to get off this island."

“I didn’t say it was your illusion.” Sylvain sighed. He frowned, shaking his head against Felix’s leg. “There’s a clan that lacks even a scrap of decency. They pick a handful of illusions and wait for someone to fall for them.” He opened his eyes, expression terse. “Whoever does is torn to shreds.”

Felix swallowed. Now he understood Sylvain’s panic. Because, had he been alone, Felix _would_ have fallen for it.

And yet . . . something still nagged at the back of his mind. “That doesn’t explain why you went after them.”

Sylvain’s grip shifted around his ankle, the webbing between the siren’s fingers rough against his skin. “They’re good at sensing humans. Side effect of their hunting style, I guess. So they needed a distraction.”

Felix swallowed, but his mouth felt dry. “You were their distraction.”

“It was easy.” Sylvain shrugged, wincing rather rapidly afterwards. “Their leader _loathes_ me.”

Any concern Felix had immediately slipped into anger. Anger at himself, for being the victim, the damsel. Anger at Sylvain, for thinking he needed to be his knight, for putting his own body on the line. The venom of rage seeped into Felix’s words. “ _Why_?”

Sylvain glanced away. “I dunno. Maybe I wanted to keep you for myself.”

Felix glanced once more into the water. Sylvain’s tail had stilled completely, his grip on Felix loosening as if he wished the small current would drag him away. Felix’s gaze followed the line of Sylvain’s tail, falling upon the already-ruined gills the siren had complained about so long ago. There were new bruises and cuts there, the organ rendered even more useless than before.

When Felix glanced back up, he could see the way Sylvain’s lips had pulled into a tight line, his shoulders hunched like a dog expecting a scolding. Sylvain had pulled back, his forehead pressing against Felix’s knee just to avoid looking at him. 

Felix swallowed. “The person who hurt you before . . . they’re in that clan.”

Sylvain twitched, but he didn’t say anything.

Felix’s hand reached for Sylvain’s hair of its own accord, but he caught himself in time. He pulled it away, curling it into a fist just to prevent any other mutinous thoughts it might have. “Do you always take the hits for the people you bring here?”

Sylvain shook his head. “You’re the first one I’ve brought here.”

That didn’t make sense. Felix narrowed his eyes. “Then why did they hurt you before?”

Sylvain exhaled softly, his breath light against Felix’s knee. “I was in a clan before. It . . . happened back then.”

“I thought clans were supposed to be havens for your kind.”

“Yeah, well,” Sylvain’s shoulders slumped more, the siren looking like he wished for nothing more than to disappear, “not when the leader dies and you’re one of the two next in line.”

“You were . . . a leader?”

“Nah, just a leader’s son. My father died, and my brother didn’t like his chances. So he,” Sylvain shrugged again, but Felix could see the clench in his jaw, “played unfair and left me for the sharks.”

Felix twitched, and Sylvain pulled away, expression concerned. It only made Felix angrier. How dare Sylvain be concerned about _him_ , when he was the one who—

“It’s no big deal, Felix.” Sylvain said, voice infuriatingly placating. “He’d tried to get rid of me a hundred times before. So I think his frustration was pretty reasonable.”

Felix blinked, staring down at him. It was as if the words were imagined, like he couldn’t comprehend Sylvain’s state and acceptance existing together.

Brothers weren’t supposed to be like that, human or otherwise. They were supposed to be supportive, helpful, wanting their sibling to have the same—or maybe more—opportunities than they did. Sure, they could be taunting or teasing, perhaps even bossy, but they weren’t supposed to be cruel. Behind each sharp word should have been even the faintest trace of affection. Ultimately, behind the bluster, they were supposed to love.

They were _supposed_ to be like Glenn.

Felix stood from his spot so rapidly that Sylvain startled into the center of the pool. He glared down at the water, like it was the river’s fault for all of this.

Sylvain’s hands wrung together beneath the waterline. “Uh, are you—”

“Stay put.” Felix growled, turning on his heels.

“Felix?”

“Stay.”

Felix stormed into the brush, ignoring Sylvain’s weak shouts for him. He shoved aside the branches that tried to slow him. He didn’t care that water dripped from his pants and pooled into small mud puddles as he stormed into the dirt. Things shifted in the grasses far off, but he couldn’t care less about whether it was beast or wind.

His mind swam with thoughts of Sylvain, surrounded by other sirens who refused to help him. He could guess they had watched with a bloodthirsty interest as one heir tried to kill the other again and again over the years, only for Sylvain’s life to be seen as an act of defiance. It was too easy now to imagine an ambush meant to murder Sylvain—and when he had the audacity to still breathe, he could imagine how easily they had thrust the bleeding siren into a pit of sharks to perish—and knowing that, if their methods failed, living as a lone siren would be the death of him. He could easily imagine the clan now, seeing him as a failure, a threat, one that they had torn to shreds and left to the fate of the ocean.

And, while Sylvain seemed to revel in the act, Felix knew that the siren wasn’t stupid. He’d definitely have known back then that the clan wouldn’t protect him—that it would have been safer to just leave. But instead he had stayed, departing only when his body could never keep up.

And even now, he had to know that the clan would have kill him on sight. And yet he had gone anyway. He had gone to protect Felix, the man who had threatened him with a knife.

Fury bubbled in his chest, undeterred by how hard he bit the inside of his cheek. While the world had been unkind to Felix—his family was gone, his crew lost to the sea—at least he had known love, care, and compassion at one point. He could hold onto them when the world was bleakest, when he was afraid of losing himself. He wasn’t foolish enough to wish for even a moment of that joy once more—he knew the world didn’t work like that—but he could depend on them to save him from falling into the void of his own mind.

Yet Sylvain didn’t even have that. And, for whatever reason, that infuriated Felix to no end.

He tried to stay focused on his target—a small shack in the middle of the island—just so he could push those thoughts away. It was easier to disregard the other thoughts as he neared, the old planks of the roof glimmering in the moonlight. It was easy to push through the door—the hinge perhaps the most functional thing in this whole mess—and step inside.

He’d become terribly familiar with this shack in the last few weeks. Deep marks dug into the pillars, each gash a reminder of how many days he’d been here. Every day for a month, he’d found comfort in this little shack while Sylvain hunted in the waters—and every day he dug more and more into the remnants of a castaway either long-saved or long-dead.

He’d become overly familiar with the shack’s contents, though that still didn’t prevent him from coming back. It was good to have things here that Sylvain wouldn’t see or be alarmed by. The map, the blades, the journal . . . none of these would settle well for a person who thought Felix still desperately needed him to survive.

And, if Felix wanted Sylvain to stay around, the siren _had_ to keep thinking that.

But he could worry about that later. For now, the more he lingered, the greater the chance Sylvain would think he’d been abandoned, go off to the ocean to find a place to hide, and get himself killed. Which meant he couldn’t let himself be distracted.

With a huff, he strode across the room, fingers pushing aside vials on a high shelf. He’d disregarded them before as common and pointless goods from fallen ships—pure waters, antitoxins, vulneraries. But if these were healing items, then perhaps . . .

His fingers wrapped around a slender square vial, pulling it down off the shelf. Thick liquid sloshed within, skirting the line between water and paste. He brushed his thumb over the dirtied label, the word foreign but the letters familiar enough.

Felix wrapped his fingers tight around the vial and ran.

It was harder to find the river now. The moon had already started to set, making the night far darker. Already, his muddied footprints had caked and dried, becoming entirely imperceptible. He just had to guess with the stars as his guide. And, when they led him to the river, he just had to hope he was going the right direction as he followed the flow.

By the time he found Sylvain at the riverside, his chest burned—his panting breaths weren’t enough to get the air he needed. His feet ached from running over harsh dirt and sharp stones. And he was pretty sure that his arms and face were covered in small cuts caused by passing branches.

But those things didn’t matter compared to the relief at seeing Sylvain with his arms crossed in front of him on the large stone, cheek pillowed there as he napped. His back moved slightly with each soft breath, eyelashes fluttering as he dreamed. 

Felix kneeled by Sylvain’s side, eyes falling over his body. The more severe wounds were along his sides and tail, but even the smallest injuries were risky to ignore. There was a good chance that, if left untreated, they would fester and Sylvain would die a long, painful death.

He exhaled softly, uncorking the bottle in his hands. This sort of thing was a rarity—a medicine that seemed to do miracles on human skin. If it could do even half of that for Sylvain, then maybe he’d be okay. And maybe then the guilt would stop gnawing at Felix’s bones.

He pressed his thumb to the lip of the bottle, tipping a small drop onto his finger. Careful to not wake the siren, he rubbed the concoction into the torn skin and dark bruises along Sylvain’s knuckles.

The skin of one hand already began to stitch itself together before he even started the other. By the time he was done applying the medicine, the first hand healed as if nothing had ever happened.

Felix snorted; perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised him that the siren would heal quickly with this. Magical creatures always did manage to do amazing things. Amazing creature using amazing medicine . . . it would only have been remarkable if nothing happened.

Well, at least he could have faith it worked. That was all he wanted, right?

Sighing, Felix turned his attention to the rest of the injuries, trying to categorize the ones he could see. He figured his next target was the one hidden by matted hair at the back of Sylvain’s head. Fortunately, Felix didn’t need to know where the injury was for the magic to do its work.

With a more liberal amount on his fingers, he leaned closer, rubbing the liquid onto Sylvain’s scalp. His fingers ran over numerous cuts, all hidden by the siren’s absurdly fluffy hair. But, even as he worked, he could feel the cuts start to close and heal. He could only hope that the medicine would go deep enough to help further trauma.

When he pulled back, he very nearly dropped the bottle into the water. Sylvain’s eyes were focused on him, his expression impossible to tell with his face half hidden behind his arms.

“What are you doing?” Sylvain hummed.

Heat rose to Felix’s face as he stumbled over his own words. “I don’t have magic. But I have this. Which can probably help you. It—it at least is working so far.”

Sylvain’s gaze slid to the bottle in Felix’s hand. “Where did you get that?”

Felix’s mouth opened for the defensive, but sense won over instinct and he bit down on his tongue. There was no bite in Sylvain’s words, no accusation. Just an exhausted curiosity.

“It washed up on the shore a while back.” Well it _probably_ had at one point. Felix was an awful liar—whatever he said had to be as close to the truth as possible, lest he screw it up. “We had some like this on the ship. So I thought . . . I should save it for something important.”

Sylvain hummed a response, watching as Felix applied more to his fingers and pressed it into the wound at his shoulder. He winced, but the expression quickly flattened out into something neutral.

But Felix had learned long ago that Sylvain’s expressions couldn’t be trusted. “Does it hurt?”

“No.” Sylvain muttered, pressing his forehead against his arms, voice muted by the stone below him. “Just warm.”

“Well,” Felix shifted his attention to some bruising at Sylvain’s throat, careful around the gills, “tell me if it hurts.”

“Mmhm.”

Felix kept working, doing his best to preserve the majority of the elixir. If he wasn’t careful, he’d waste it on minor injuries, while the rest still lingered beneath the water’s surface. But Sylvain seemed so calm and relaxed—finally at ease as he let Felix care for him.

But, soon enough, there weren’t any injuries that he could reach.

“I need you to get out of the water.” Felix said, corking the bottle as he shifted back.

Sylvain’s head shifted up to look at Felix, frown prominent. “Do I have to?”

“I can’t reach your back or tail here.” Felix’s lips twitched. “So get up here or deal with the infection on your own.”

Sylvain sighed, shifting his arms to prop himself up. He tried, but it would have been less pathetic if he had simply pantomimed the motion. He kept trying, though, even if it devolved to a point where he could barely get his shoulders out of the water.

Eventually, Felix had enough. “You’re pathetic.” He huffed, though there wasn’t any bite to his words. He bent in front of Sylvain, hooking his arms under Sylvain’s.

“I blame your medicine.” Sylvain complained. “Makes my body feel like it’s made of jellyfish.”

Felix shook his head, pulling Sylvain up with one great heave. He nearly stumbled back, footsteps uneven as he dragged Sylvain onto the stone. Perhaps he was far more tired than he thought—and he had to consider himself fortunate that his poor decision hadn’t reopened the other wounds.

“Just . . . stay on your stomach for now.” Felix muttered, eyes falling onto the deep gashes at Sylvain’s tail. It shouldn’t have surprised him that most of the attacks were struck from behind, but still the thought made Felix wince. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Don’t have to tell me twice.” Sylvain hummed, pillowing his head again and watching Felix from the corner of his eyes.

Felix tried to ignore him as he applied the medicine in the most methodical method possible. He doubted he had enough for every injury, meaning he needed to focus on the worst ones first. And that had to be determined by the combination of depth and usefulness—after all, Sylvain needed his tail to survive, even if the cuts there weren’t as deep as the ones on his already-ruined gills.

In the meantime, Sylvain didn’t flinch or wince anymore. Instead, his noises were reduced to small, contented sighs. His body relaxed more and more against the stone, practically melting into it. Sometimes, he slept. Other times, he merely muttered unintelligible words against his arms, gaze intensely focused on Felix.

Felix didn’t let himself be distracted by that. Instead, he kept his attention on each and every cut, eyeing the amount left in the bottle.

When the bottle was empty, Sylvain’s cuts were nearly healed in their entirety, his body was dry and radiated warmth, and a pleasant (and almost painfully sincere) smile spread across his face. Felix, on the other hand, was exhausted, soaked through his clothes, and shivering.

A breeze blew across the waters, sending a more violent shudder up Felix’s spine. He groaned, tossing the bottle aside as he attempted to rub his arms to keep warm. There weren’t enough trees around here, not enough obstacles to block the wind or hold in the warmth. He could go deeper inland, away from the river, but still he wasn’t certain it was safe to leave Sylvain alone.

A hand brushed over his own, snapping Felix into focus. Before he could respond, the hand moved along his arm and slid around the small of his back. Felix looked down, and Sylvain’s other hand settled on his knee. Instinct acted before his sense, his knees parting and earning a smile. Sylvain slotted himself into the open space, those clawed hands wrapping around Felix’s waist and Sylvain’s cheek pressed against his chest. His tail flicked in contentment, rough scales brushing against Felix’s ankles.

Felix huffed, glaring at the river. “Should I be concerned you’re so warm?” He muttered, not entirely displeased at how easily Sylvain’s proximity seemed to chase the shivers away.

Sylvain chuckled, the low rumble resonating in Felix’s chest. “Just enjoy it.”

Felix huffed, but any argument died on his tongue. The air was still cold, but Sylvain was like the warmest coat draped over him, more cat than fish as he pulled himself closer to Felix’s chest. To reject it would just make Felix freeze with the night’s chill, perhaps get an illness he couldn’t afford to have. And if Sylvain was overly attentive now, it would only be worse if he was sick.

The siren’s fingers pressed against Felix’s back, fingertips angled so his claws didn’t tear into the fabric. They made the smallest circular motions against Felix’s skin. And yet Sylvain was the one rapidly nodding off as if _he_ was the one being soothed.

As Sylvain’s breaths slowed, he slowly began to slip. His fingers were firm in Felix’s shirt, but without the coordination of wakefulness, it was inevitable that the siren would lose his ground completely and collapse to the cold and unforgiving stone.

For mercy’s sake, and perhaps from a bit of guilt, Felix wrapped an arm around Sylvain’s side—careful to avoid his gills. Like this, it was easy to pull him close in the half-embrace, keep him balanced and comfortable. It was the least he could do, really.

Felix glanced up at the sky. Clouds were shifting overhead with the wind, stars twinkling past them. The breeze blew through his hair. In the distance, tree leaves brushed against each other.

But still it didn’t distract him from the way Sylvain’s breaths brushed over his collarbone, nor the way his hair tickled at Felix’s jaw.

It was irritating, so Felix pressed his face against Sylvain’s head to keep his hair down. That was the only reason, Felix reminded himself, ignoring how Sylvain’s grip tightened around him. He ignored the softness of Sylvain’s hair just as effectively, the very texture an impossibility with the seawater and everything else around them.

Felix’s attention shifted, but it didn’t shift far. It couldn’t, not with his eyelids growing heavy, body unable to twitch himself awake lest he wake the siren. After all, there was no guarantee the other sirens wouldn’t find them, regardless of how adamant Sylvain was that this place was safe. There was no guarantee that Sylvain wouldn’t take the opportunity to slip into the water and vanish forever.

But it was late now—more morning than night—and the strains of the day were clearly draining his body of any energy it might have had.

A nap. He could close his eyes for just a moment or two, trick his body into thinking it had slept.

When Felix blinked awake once more, the sun was just starting to peek through the trees, painting the stone with a warm hue. The stone beneath him was still cold, not yet warmed by the morning sun. The breeze had died down completely, though there was still a chill in the air.

And yet Felix was comfortably warm—more so than he had been in ages. And he was horizontal—lying on his side, a heavy weight across his middle.

Realization dawned upon him slower than he would have liked.

Warm breath blew softly against the nape of his neck, shifting the short hairs there. The weight around him—an arm far heavier than it had any right to be—moved slightly as its owner slept, as if not sure whether to pull its prisoner closer. A hand—hot as a brand—pressed possessively against Felix’s chest.

Felix wasn’t sure if it was the siren or the hot flush bursting on his face that made him feel overwhelmingly hot.

He jolted upright, the arm on him heavy enough to make him half-turn and face the waking siren.

“What are you _doing_?” Felix hissed, forcing on anger to snuff out anything else.

Sylvain merely blinked up at him, eyes unfocused and bleary. “You looked uncomfortable.” He yawned, rubbing his eyes. “I thought this would be better.”

Felix scowled, his argument dead on his tongue.

Sylvain shifted more upright, stretching his arms. “Should I have woken you instead?” He asked. “I didn’t think you’d like being on the outside, since you kind of—”

The flush burned hotter on Felix’s face. He could only imagine how it had looked—sleeping deep in his exhaustion, so easily guided into a siren’s open arms. He wasn’t sure what was more mortifying: that he had slept so soundly it bordered on carelessness, or that he had full confidence that Sylvain wouldn’t have harmed him in his sleep.

He pulled himself to his feet, dodging around Sylvain’s hand as it reached for him.

“Stay put.” He grumbled, taking a step back to restore his dignity and sanity. At least at this distance, he could remember the grumble in his stomach. “I’m going to get breakfast.”

“I can get it.” Sylvain said, shifting to dip himself back into the water.

“You’re—”

“Fine, see?” Sylvain grinned, pointing to the shimmering skin at his shoulder and on his arms. The skin was pulled tight—like it was recently scarred—but it didn’t look painful. For the most part, it seemed that they’d heal without any trace. “All better, thanks to you.”

Felix’s cheeks warmed again, and he turned away. “Just stay put.”

“Okay,” it was hard to ignore the laugh in Sylvain’s tone, “sure.”

Felix nearly dropped his prizes when he returned to the river an hour later. Despite how long it had taken him to catch three fish, roast one, and make his way across the island to their spot, Sylvain was still there. Felix had expected the siren to get hungry or bored, to just go off on his own now that he was well again. He very well had already steeled himself for the annoyance and anger, and the sudden lack left him breathless. 

Because there Sylvain was, the tip of his tail dipping into the water as he drew in the dust.

Felix didn’t get to stand there like a fool for long, Sylvain noticing him rather quickly. His smile was beaming, bright in a way that made Felix’s heart pound against his chest.

Ridiculous.

“Welcome back.” Sylvain said, still smiling as Felix sat across from him. “Looks like it went well.”

“Well enough. Here.” Felix passed over both of Sylvain’s fish, shifting to pick at his own. His fingers stilled as he watched Sylvain eat, the siren more ravenous than he had been for a while.

The thing was, he had been used to the way Sylvain ate. He ate like scale and bone didn’t matter, all of it crumbling beneath sharp teeth. Sylvain ate with little care for any particular part, actually, eating even the most unappealing organs and features that Felix couldn’t stomach. Whenever Sylvain finished, there wasn’t a crumb or a trace left. It was like whatever he ate hadn’t been there in the first place.

And the thought made Felix shudder.

Because the truth was that Sylvain was a monster. Not in the way of scary stories, or tall tales; he just wasn’t a human. He wasn’t like anything Felix ever could be, just as much as Felix couldn’t be like him. Their natures were clashing, their existence together impossible. Sirens ate humans to stave off hunger, and humans killed sirens for their own self-preservation. It was impossible, unnatural, for them to just be like this—a casual meal after a rough day.

“Felix?” Sylvain glanced up, his eyebrows raised. “Everything alright? You’re staring.”

Felix didn’t even have the sense to be embarrassed, merely watching as Sylvain licked his lips, the sharp teeth barely hidden. “Why are you letting me live?” He asked, the words just as uncomfortable to say as they had been sitting in his chest.

Sylvain blinked.

“This . . . I don’t get it!” Felix hissed, running a hand through his hair. “Letting me live, bringing food, getting hurt just to protect me—it doesn’t make sense! If I was a siren, I would have eaten you on the spot. Or—or at least after I got _maimed_. I never would have—have—”

Sylvain’s head tilted, gaze piercing. “You carried me across an island, used a precious resource you’d been saving . . . isn’t that the same thing?”

“It’s _not_!”

“It is.” Sylvain said, disregarding his other fish to rest his chin in his palm. “As easily as I could have eaten you, you could have slit my throat, pulled my teeth, and plucked my scales to sell to the highest bidder.”

Felix winced, body twitching as the image flashed in his head. Siren pieces, just like any other monster, sold miraculously well. They were good avenues for magic long thought lost, and for medicine far more effective than anything humans had yet made. Felix knew a lot of men led very comfortable lives with such a business. “I have _some_ honor.” He scoffed.

“And I have a friend I’d like not dead.”

Felix scowled down at his meal. He wanted to say that they _weren’t_ friends, that he could never be friends with such a creature. That Sylvain’s presence was merely a burden, at most a means to an end. But even he knew that was a lie, and the lie would fall flat immediately.

It didn’t make it any less concerning.

At least Sylvain had the sense to notice the tension. “So, after breakfast,” he said, claw toying with his fish’s tail, “are you going to carry me back to the beach?”

Felix snorted; he could take this olive branch, at least for now. “Swim back on your own.”

Sylvain smiled wide. “What if I _want_ you to carry me?”

“Then I’ll drop you in the dirt.”

Sylvain laughed.

“I don’t get it.” Sylvain mused loudly, watching as Felix struggled to tie two logs together.

Felix grumbled, rubbing the sweat of his brow. His work was going about as well at it could have; the rope was holding strong, and the wood didn’t fracture as he started to pull it together. It perhaps wasn’t the best attempt at a raft, but with the supplies he had he was pretty sure the thing would stay afloat when he was done.

Of course, Sylvain lying there and watching, his tail constantly flicking in his amusement, wasn’t helping. It only ground at Felix’s nerves.

Felix made another knot, testing the strength of the connected logs. “What?”

“Why a raft?” Sylvain’s head tilted thoughtfully.

Felix paused, glaring at the siren. “What do you mean ‘why’?”

“Well, think about it.” Sylvain hummed. “You get carried onto the ocean, a current grabs you, then you wind up in the middle of nowhere, left to starve.”

Felix swallowed, staring at his creation. While he knew there were risks, for the most part he just ignored them. It was just as likely, after all, that a storm would ravage this island and he’d wind up killed to a hurricane or flood. Not exactly likely, considering the old shack on the island, but still. “I have to try something.”

“How come?”

“I can’t stay on this island forever.”

Sylvain blinked, tilting his head. There was the trace of a frown on his lips, though it was clear he was trying to hide it. “Why?”

Felix looked down at his work, strapping the ropes down along the other side. He’d tried to lie to himself, but it was pointless.

The truth was that he wasn’t sure if he could keep his sense as a human if he stayed here for much longer. Normal humans feared monsters, not welcomed their company. And yet Felix had more faith in Sylvain than he had in most people. He was happier here than he had been in a long time—more at ease, more comfortable, more . . . openly himself. But he knew that, eventually, that would be the death of him.

“Felix?”

“Someday, I’ll want something.” He said plainly. It was obvious; he would want—possibly already _did_ want—and then whatever this was would conflict with Sylvain's instinct. Felix would be reminded of his place, and would be killed. And, at this point, he wasn’t sure he’d mind. But if Sylvain couldn’t tell, then . . .

“So?”

Felix focused on his own hands, lest he look back at Sylvain. There was only one way to get the siren to return the distance between them. To stop acting like they could just be friends. Because they shouldn’t. They couldn’t. “I’ll wind up your dinner when I do.”

Sylvain was quiet—no objection, no snarky response, nothing. Just silence.

Felix let the silence sit there. He wanted to apologize, but he couldn’t. Not if he wanted to stay sane. Not if he wanted to remember his place.

The sound of water splashing broke into the silence. When Felix turned, Sylvain was gone, leaving only a groove in the sand from where he’d returned to the water. Waves lapped at the shore, but there was no other movement. No sign that he was turning back.

With a sigh, Felix dropped his rope onto the pile of logs, grabbing his sword and heading inland. His feet brought him back to the hut, the closest reminder he had of his humanity.

In the light, the building was far more familiar. The hut itself had been built of the surrounding trees, starting to degrade with time. Handmade shelves lined each of the walls, stacked with goods both useful and not; Felix had rearranged these in the last couple weeks, dividing them into the useful items and the useless. To one end, there was a rotting grass bed that Felix didn’t dare deal with, even if it was positioned well enough to avoid the wind and the chill. Pinned to the opposite wall was a sketch of the island; it was fairly accurate, from what Felix could tell, identifying the primary features and the beach that should be avoided at all costs.

Most notably, though, was a journal sitting upon a table, weathered but still legible. The inkwell beside it had long since dried out, but—from what Felix could tell—what needed to be said had been.

There were an abundant number of drawings in the thing, dancing around each of the words. There were several maps, some of them extending beyond the island; they showed he was no more than a half-week’s journey from a port town, so long as he could keep north or east. They also showed that any deviation would thrust him into the open ocean.

Between the maps were sketches of a beautiful siren—sunning, eating, sleeping. These were all the sketches of a secret observer, one whose notes warned of the evil behind the beauty. From what he could gather from the entries, the writer had dealt with Sylvain only once or twice. They had described those false smiles, the easygoing personality, the false friend. They complained of how easy it was for Sylvain to make them _want—_ to want companionship, to want the friendly face, to want Sylvain. It was perhaps unusual for a siren, but no less deadly.

It had resonated so painfully the first time Felix read it that he had resolved to end the threat before it finished developing. But by then he was so far gone that a simple gesture from Sylvain had shattered his resolve.

Perhaps he was too far gone now. Maybe it was entirely pointless, trying to leave the island.

Felix sighed, shoving the journal into his coat pocket. He reached up to the shelf, taking a couple of the elixirs he hadn’t noticed the night before. After all, it was risky for Sylvain to go out to the ocean so soon after the last attack. If he returned to the beach all bloodied again, then at least Felix could—

Felix rubbed his face. He had to stop this.

He turned, moving to leave the hut. If Sylvain wasn’t back, Felix could look into the journal more. While the beginning had been obsessed with the siren, the bulk of it focused on observations about the island. Maybe he could get some more information about the most common winds, or the currents that swirled around the island. The more he knew, the faster he’d be able to leave without getting himself killed in the process.

It was a long shot, but it was _something_.

As soon as he stepped out of the door, something snagged his arm, whipping him around. All thoughts left him, and instinct from years of training took over—blade in hand, breath steady, one clean slice to protect himself.

But his attack stopped midway, frozen as his eyes landed on a familiar face. Felix’s breath felt punched out of his lungs, his blade falling from his hand and clattering to the floor.

He knew that hair, even if it looked a bit more unkempt than it had been for years. He knew the line of that jaw, the nervous smile on those lips. He knew the bright eye that looked down at him, already shining with the threat of tears.

“Dimitri.” He breathed, not sure if he had already lost his mind to the island.

That smile widened, and Felix found himself grabbed up in overbearingly strong arms. Not a dream, then. “Felix. Thank the Goddess.”

Felix grunted as he endured a tighter squeeze. “Where did you—”

“I thought you were lost.” Dimitri’s voice was strained, his nose pressing hard against Felix’s shoulder. “I saw it take you. I wanted to save you, but the sirens surrounded us. I couldn’t—I tried—I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner.”

Felix brought a hand up, awkwardly patting Dimitri’s back. “How did you—?”

Dimitri smiled against Felix’s skin. “The other sirens were very . . . cooperative.” He pulled back, smiling back down at Felix with a pride Felix hadn’t seen for a long time. He could only imagine how Dimitri and the others had ‘persuaded’ them. “So I came here as soon as we had another ship.”

Felix blinked, resting his hands on Dimitri’s arms and trying to place distance between them. It was a hopeless effort. “How did you even afford—”

Dimitri smiled, and Felix didn’t need him to say it. There was a sparkle behind that eye of his, a look that made Dimitri’s actions painfully clear. After all, Felix would have done the same thing, if his captain had been taken.

Now, though, he knew it was cruel—there was no doubt it was. It was cruel to treat sirens like they were animals that could speak—that could be used for answers before they were used for parts. Though he doubted any normal human would see it that way. He could hardly believe himself for it.

“I’m sure what you got would help us immensely as well.” Dimitri said, finally releasing Felix to peek inside the hut. “I shouldn’t have underestimated you. I knew you would be able to handle one in your sleep.”

“Dimitri, I—”

Dimitri glanced over his shoulder with a grin, only momentarily before entering the hut. “You’ll have to tell all of us the story. I’m certain it was amazing.”

Felix swallowed, body going rigid. His eyes flicked toward the shore. If he ran now, he could possibly warn Sylvain in enough time. But, if he was heard, Dimitri’s height would close the gap almost immediately. Sylvain would get no warning and he’d stand no chance.

Dimitri’s head peaked out from the doorway. “Where did you put the scales and teeth?” He asked, blinking.

Felix swallowed, glancing back at the man. “I lost them in a storm.”

Dimitri stared at him, and Felix couldn’t keep his gaze for long. As he looked away, he could still feel Dimitri’s gaze still upon him, trying to pierce right through him. He heard Dimitri step through the doorway once more, easily towering over Felix.

“They happen often out here.” Felix added, lie lame on his tongue.

“Hm.” Dimitri’s head tilted, lips pressed into a tight line. “How _did_ you kill that siren?”

Felix swallowed, heart caught in his throat.

Dimitri’s fingers wrapped around Felix’s chin in one harsh motion, forcing him to look up. His strength rejected any effort to look away. “Tell me—right now—that you killed that monster.”

Felix winced. “We should just return to the ship, before the others worry.”

Dimitri’s expression darkened, lips curling into a sneer. “Not until you tell me that thing is dead, or I end it myself.”

“Dimitri, please,” Felix’s mouth felt dry, his voice cracking, “I wouldn’t have survived without him. I’d be dead in the depths, or bones here.”

“’He’?” Dimitri snapped his hand away like Felix’s skin was a brand. “ _It_ didn’t _save_ you, Felix! It _took_ you!” He paced in the space between them, expression full of fury. “They don’t _save_ people!”

“He saved me.” Felix replied, voice low and petulant.

“They don’t—they aren’t—” Dimitri ran a frustrated hand through his hair, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe the words out of Felix’s mouth. “Do you forget what they did to Glenn?!”

Felix stood there, body cold. No, he didn’t forget. He could never. His brother had been fascinated with a siren from the sea. Had been insistent that the thing meant no harm, that it was little more than an idle companion to entertain him whenever he was docked. Had ignored Felix’s and Dimitri’s insistence that it was nothing more than a beast, that it wanted nothing more than his blood.

And then Glenn was gone. Vanished off the ship in the middle of the night. Stolen, lost to the sea. Leaving a hollow ache that Felix wasn’t sure would ever vanish.

Was he doing the same by protecting Sylvain?

“Where is it?” Dimitri hissed, hands firm on Felix’s shoulders.

Felix stared up at him, lips pressing into a firm line.

Dimitri growled. “I don’t have time for this.”

Dimitri turned, heading back into the hut. Loud crashes broke out from the building, splintered wood bursting like explosions. The man stormed out from the building just as violently, crowding Felix before he had even a moment to retreat.

“I won’t let you be another Glenn.” Dimitri muttered, fingers curling tight into Felix’s wrist. He dragged him toward the corner of the building, crowding him against a slender tree that had grown there. There, he used a rope—one of Felix’s ropes—to bind Felix’s wrists together, tether him tightly against the tree. “I won’t lose you to a monster.”

Felix gasped, the rope biting into his skin as he tried to struggle. But it was pointless; Felix’s ropes were too sturdy, and Dimitri’s knots were too tight. He cursed loudly, knowing his thrashing was a waste of time but his rage burning too hot to allow otherwise.

“Tell me where it is.” Dimitri repeated, arms crossed. “The sooner it’s dead, the sooner we can go home.”

“Fuck off.”

“No matter.” Dimitri sighed, turning and stepping away. “It’s a fish, so it will be by the sea.”

Felix winced. It didn’t matter if Dimitri walked the whole island or not; he’d know Felix’s camp by sight. He’d know by the fire, the raft, the goods gathered together. He’d know he only had to wait for Sylvain to show up, if he wasn’t there already.

And then Sylvain wouldn’t stand a chance.

“I’ll be back soon.” Dimitri smiled fondly, like Felix was a child and this was a nightmare that would soon be over.

It made Felix’s blood boil in his veins.

Felix struggled till his wrists were raw, till the fibers of the rope dug into his skin and made blood trickle down his hands. If he gave up, Sylvain was dead. If he took too long, Sylvain was dead. And Felix could never forgive himself for that—could never pardon himself if his savior and friend had died because he couldn’t stop his captain.

Out of breath and out of energy, he let his body go limp, if only for a moment. This wasn’t working. He had to get clever, else he’d wind up losing his hands and end up just as useless. He’d already tried pulling, tearing, and cutting with his teeth. Everything had been pointless.

A glimmer caught his attention, just the smallest sheen beneath the dirt—and Felix cursed himself for his stupidity.

It was a careful process, stretching himself so he could sit. With slow and careful movements, he reached out a leg, nudging the dust-covered sword. He kept nudging at it with his toe, bit by bit, until finally it was in his reach. He cut himself free and—while he wasn’t entirely sure what good it would do—he sheathed his blade, gripping it firmly in hand. If anything, the blade at his side was a comfort desperately needed so he could get all of them through this intact.

With nerves barely eased, he bolted for the shore—running harder than he had in years—praying that he wasn’t too late.

With every step closer, he could hear more of Dimitri’s shouts, could feel his skin prickle with the crack of magic. He didn’t know which he wanted more: for the sounds to stop, or for them to keep going. All he knew was that his feet weren’t going fast enough—that they would never be able to go fast enough.

When he finally reached the sea, the scene was worse than he could have imagined. The land was littered with charred earth and broken blades. Many of Felix’s items were burning in magic fire, still blazing hot. Even the sand burned around him, licking at his skin. Yet, with the fire all around him, he felt chilled to the bone.

Because there were Dimitri and Sylvain, still alive. But, clearly, there was a victor.

Sylvain was wrapped in that siren net, forced to be curled in on himself, held high above the ground. He struggled, but it was in vain. All it took was a simple twist of Dimitri’s wrist—too easy with his immense strength—and the net dug into Sylvain’s skin.

Sylvain whimpered, fingers curling into the net to try and wiggle away. But it was pointless; the net dug in every place where it touched his skin, carving deep lacerations. Blood spilled onto the sand, pouring over a metal object half-hidden in the mess.

But from here, Felix could tell what it was. After their fight, after Sylvain practically asked him to stay, he’d found Felix a compass. A way to escape and survive on his own. The bastard.

“Dimitri,” Felix pleaded, taking a slow step closer, “don’t.”

Both of their gazes snapped to him—Dimitri’s annoyed, and Sylvain’s utterly broken.

“Please.” Felix continued, begging bitter on his tongue. But he had to—Sylvain deserved this much. “Let’s return to the ship. Forget this place.”

Dimitri snorted. “I let him go, and he’ll follow us around the world. Take you _again_.” He twisted even harder, Sylvain’s whines devolving into pained gasps and cries. “No—I won’t tolerate that.”

“If he does,” Felix breathed, “I’ll kill him.”

Dimitri’s eye narrowed. “Like you did in the _weeks_ you were here?”

“I—”

Dimitri sighed, shaking his head. “I’ll humor you. We’ll bring him to port, sell him to be someone else’s problem.”

Immediately, Sylvain thrashed against his confines. Dimitri was unfazed by it, but Sylvain’s injuries only grew. It was a pointless, desperate act. One that made Felix’s stomach churn.

With a grimace, he drew his blade, pointing it at Dimitri. He closed the gap, glaring at his oldest friend like he was his greatest enemy. “Drop him.”

Dimitri sighed like Felix’s protests were a poor joke. “He would have killed you eventually.”

“You were the one who sent us into the storm.” Felix retorted. “You would have killed me too, if not for him.”

Dimitri twitched. The net dropped from his hand.

Sylvain landed in a heap, stuck where he had fallen. His breaths were heaving, body shaking as if each one took more energy than he had in him. His numerous wounds bleed freely, the net under him still cutting into his scales and fingers. He tried to prop himself up, but it was clear his arms couldn’t hold the weight. But he was alive.

“Felix,” Dimitri muttered, lip curled as he glared down at the siren, “you would have us just leave him here?”

“Yes.” Felix swallowed. “He saved my life. We can at least spare his.”

“Fine.” Dimitri scowled, turning on his heel and closing the gap between him and Felix. His hand wrapped around Felix’s arm, fingers digging into the muscle. “But if he follows us, I’ll skin him myself.”

Felix nodded.

Felix was allowed only a couple minutes to grab his things at the shore camp, Dimitri watching him and the siren. He had to be quick, lest Dimitri’s temper encourage him to change his mind. And, with the way Dimitri kept glowering at him, the chances increased with every passing second.

So he took the blades Sylvain gave him—weapons worth far more than he could ever afford. There was no point in keeping the ropes he had made, or the nonsense trinkets that Sylvain had thought could be useful. He pretended to look over the pot—like it was a thing even remotely worth keeping—and shook his head. He set it back down, placing one of his elixirs into the bottom. It was by no means a subtle move, but with Dimitri’s eye on the siren, he didn’t need to be subtle. Especially not if Sylvain needed it.

With that, he stood, stepping up to his captain. “Let’s go.” He said, voice firm.

Dimitri nodded and turned away. Felix followed, not allowing himself to look back.

Looking back would spawn regret, and regret would spark desire. And he could not—would not—tempt fate in that way. 


	4. Chapter 4

In normal circumstances, the first few weeks back on the ship would have been humiliating. Felix stumbled around with each wave like a newborn fawn, falling against every surface—and every person—unfortunate enough to be in his way. His old routines were just as foreign to him: he was up with the sunrise while the other sailors slept, and he was already prepared to retire before they had even considered dinner. His appetite was equally as affected; spices and starches sat heavy on his stomach, easily making him ill with any mis-timed rocking of the ship. Proteins sat fine, though, even if he had to ignore the others’ patronizing looks.

Humiliation, however, was burned away entirely by his irritation. While he was stubborn enough to force himself back to his old schedule, his crewmates seemed to do everything in their power to interrupt him. His morning walks were constantly intruded upon by inane questions, his practices thrown off-kilter by stupid asides, even his meals were soured by the most ridiculous of analogies.

Tonight appeared to be no different.

“So, what was its song _like_?” Caspar asked, leaning in toward Felix with his mouth still full of food.

Felix leaned away, only because it was improper to stab someone with a fork. “He didn’t sing.”

“That seems highly unlikely.” Lindhardt drawled. He was so hardly invested in the conversation that it was a wonder that he opened his mouth at all. “Their song is their main form of enrapturing prey.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “I was on a deserted island in the middle of _nowhere_. He didn’t have to do anything to keep me there.”

“Yes,” Lindhart yawned like this bored him, even though his mouth kept moving, “but you are a land-based creature, and it is not. You could have avoided it entirely.”

Felix bit down on a response. To tell them that he hadn’t _wanted_ to leave the siren’s reach was a worse condemnation. For now, the crew believed that he had kept to the shores to watch for them, tolerating Sylvain’s presence merely to stay alive—and Dimitri fortunately hadn’t opened his mouth to say otherwise.

“I dunno.” Annette hummed, prodding her biscuit with a fork. “I’ve heard they can use magic to turn their fins into legs. It could have just chased him that way.”

Felix had liked Annette, a lot. She had always been one of the few on the ship who didn’t annoy him or try to make him concede to stupid things. Lately, though, she had been one of the most incessant with her questions, and he was rethinking his position. “He didn’t sprout legs.”

“Then it _has_ to be the song.” Caspar protested. “Maybe you just don’t remember it! I can’t imagine _you,_ of all people, letting it live. Even if it did have you on an island.”

Felix rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “By the time I found a blade, the captain was already on the island. I wasn’t going to grapple him in the meantime.”

“Why not? I would have!”

“That’s not saying much.” Ashe frowned. “You grappled an alligator once, just to prove you could.”

Caspar laughed. “And I did—didn’t I?”

“You know,” Mercedes interjected, voice soft like a lullaby, “it’s not unheard of for sirens to wait to consume a human. Perhaps it was best that Felix didn’t choose to fight it.”

The sailors quieted, their attention snapping to Mercedes like she was on a stage. It appeared dinner would be left forgotten tonight, lost to another of her tales. On a sea with such long journeys and so few surprises, she tended to have that effect. Even Felix had once been entertained by her tales, listening in the corner with feigned disinterest.

But, increasingly, all her stories were about the same thing.

Ashe leaned closer, his eyes wide. He was always the most eager, regardless of subject, but also tended to be the one awake till dawn after her more horrifying tales. “Why would they wait?”

“There are tales that say that sirens are incomplete souls. That they were people who died at sea with their lives unfulfilled, and are getting one more chance at life. It’s said that, when they claim enough souls, they can repair the last vestiges of their broken ones and become human again. So . . . some think they need to consume more fulfilled souls to properly, well, redeem themselves.”

Lindhardt cushioned his chin against his arms. He wasn’t long for the waking world, at this rate, and would likely need to be carried to his room. “That’s absurd. They’ve been observed in captivity, and are born and act just as any other mammal. Humans are merely,” a yawn, ”preferred prey with one consistent element to hunt.”

“I’ve read they’re cruel in nature.” Ingrid said, frowning. “They don’t hunt souls by design, they do it because they’re spiteful. They like taking souls so their victims can’t return to the Goddess.”

“That doesn’t make any sense.” Annette protested. “People aren’t born cruel.”

“They aren’t people.” Dimitri muttered, voice a low growl. He glowered at the table, only because he’d lately been lectured too often for looking so cold to the crew. “Unless you would call your dinner a person?”

“Ah, no,” Annette ducked her head, expression sheepish, “I suppose not.”

Felix rose from his chair, his heavy step echoing in a suddenly very quiet room.

“You okay, Felix?” Ashe asked, voice soft.

Felix didn’t even bother looking back. He knew they were all watching him; they had been long before this. “Tired.”

“Oh!” Mercedes’ voice was almost unbearably bright. “Sleep well, Felix. I can tell you the story another time.”

He didn’t bother gracing that with a response. Instead, he stepped out of the galley, down the hall, and up the stairs to the deck. The deck was a sanctuary, far removed from the room already overwhelmed with voices once more.

He was, at least, grateful that no one’s footsteps followed him this time. It had been incessant the first couple weeks, everyone acting like he needed an escort if he was anywhere near the deck. Perhaps they finally believed that he wasn’t just going to jump into the sea the second they weren’t looking. He wasn’t his brother.

Felix sighed, leaning against the rail and closing his eyes. The air was cool against his skin, the salt pleasant on his tongue. There was something different about being in the open sea, unmatched by his time on the island. The rolling ship beneath his feet was natural to him once more, a pleasant rhythm that guided his every breath.

The sea was a sanctuary. It had been everything he’d wanted since he was a child, desperate to follow his brother’s footsteps. He’d wanted to be a hunter, a guardian of the seas. But, even if that had fallen apart, his work here was a decent replacement. The sea was a home more than the ports had ever been, and his job—while it wasn’t what he had expected—had given him plenty of satisfaction. And, when that had grown stale, his training had always filled the gap.

But it wasn’t as satisfying anymore. It was just . . . routine. A rhythm he adopted because he had to, not because it gave him any sort of real pleasure. Even the blade in his hand felt bland, pointless.

It was stupid. Monotony was on the island. Every day it had been the same thing—cutting down trees, making rope, stringing logs together, and eating with Sylvain. It was the same thing again and again and again. And yet . . .

He scoffed, clamping down on the thought. This was stupid. The venture with the siren had been just that: a small venture, a story to tell someday if he ever got old. But the adventure was over, and his life had returned to normal.

Maybe . . . he just needed more time to adjust.

It had never been uncommon for Ashe to join him on his perch, the other casting a fishing line just in case he found something good for Dedue to cook. Before, Felix hadn’t minded Ashe’s rambling stories, the noise not wholly unpleasant.

Lately, though, it had been different.

Ashe’s stories used to be about pirates and privateers, of champions and heroes in the sea. More often than not, he had tried to compare Felix to one of his favorite pirate heroes. And he had always been immune to Felix’s protests and annoyance.

Now, though, his focus seemed to be entirely on the sea. He rambled about krakens and kelpies alike—how to appease them, avoid them, and fight them. It seemed he had a thousand thoughts in his head, none of them particularly important or relevant to Felix. Well, except for one thing: they were all monstrous man-eaters.

“You know,” Ashe mused, reeling in his line a bit, “back home they said that merchants were just walking buffets for kraken. You know, they’d just pluck us off the ships like . . . appetizers. But I’ve never seen one.”

Felix snorted. “It’s a wives’ tale. They don’t eat people.”

“They don’t?”

“No.” Felix tilted his blade in the light, frowning at the start of tarnish on an edge. “They’re curious, clumsy, and big. They bump a ship and it cracks. While they’re fleeing to the depths, the men are stranded at sea for the sharks and other things.”

“Like sirens?”

Felix didn’t miss Ashe’s twitch, the man’s face already red with a blush. He tried to look unaffected. “I suppose.”

“S-so how do you know? About the krakens, I mean.” Ashe’s recovery was horrible, but Felix could almost appreciate that he was trying.

“Saw one once,” Felix muttered, “on my brother’s ship.”

He could still remember it, even though it had been over a decade ago. The creature had nudged another ship with its tentacles, startled when the men started to scream. It hit the ship as it fled, and cracked into the hull. Glenn rescued them, but it was easy to imagine them all dead if they’d been out on the sea alone.

If the kraken had wanted to eat them, it could have had _both_ ships to itself. It was large enough, and the men aboard would have stood no chance against its size.

Glenn had been the one to tell him that it was wives’ tale. He was the one who said not all the creatures out here were as deadly as their reputations.

He’d never told Felix where he learned that, but Felix could guess.

“What does it eat, then?”

Felix shrugged. “Ask Lindhardt.”

Ashe scrunched his nose. “I’d rather not. He always makes fun of my books.”

Felix snorted. That seemed rather high-energy for Lindhardt. Knowing him, he probably just called Ashe’s stories fantasy. If he was feeling exceedingly generous, he’d have proven why Ashe was wrong in ten words or less. Felix could appreciate his brevity, though he couldn’t stand his laziness. He was lucky Caspar took on the burdens for both of them.

“They don’t eat men. Just fish.”

Every night now, Felix’s unease was only temporarily soothed by the sound of the ocean, the waves against the ship. The winds were comforting, cool in their embraces. It was nostalgic, in a way.

He’d never let himself linger too much on nostalgia—it was a pointless venture to dream for what was gone. But, when the moon was high in the sky and the water was black as ink, he entertained it for a little while. He leaned on the ship’s railing, gaze focused on the sea.

“Can’t sleep?” Mercedes’ voice was soft and sweet, a warm breath along the cold breeze.

He glanced over his shoulder. “I’ll head in soon.”

It was too cold for her, clearly, her hands wrapped tightly into her shawl. She pulled it around her tighter as she leaned against the railing, looking at him with a smile. “Mind if I join you, then?”

He didn’t respond, instead turning his attention back to the sea. Maybe she’d get the hint.

She didn’t. “I’m glad you’re home.”

He snorted.

“Truly.” Her sincerity was always too much, and forced his fingers to curl into the wood. “I can’t imagine doing any of this without you.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’m sure Ashe could keep Dimitri from bankrupting us.”

It wasn’t entirely fair, but it was close. Despite Dimitri’s strong sentiments in many matters, he was utterly useless against the merchants. His politeness emboldened them, and his occasional ignorance left them too much power in negotiations. Felix hated dealing with them, but his sharp words cut down their attempts before it was even slightly threatening. It had always just been better to leave Dimitri on the ship; it helped that Dimitri seemed to prefer it that way.

But Ashe was good at dealing with them, too. Felix had seen it more than once. He was certain that, if anything really did happen to him, Ashe could take his role easily—perhaps better—and serve as Dimitri’s proxy on the shore. And, if he couldn’t manage an intimidating presence on his own, Felix had little doubt Dedue’s additional presence would solve that quickly.

“If you don’t mind me saying . . .” Mercedes’ weight shifted, rocking uncertainly on the boards. With a small sigh, she leaned on the railing next to him, her elbow nudging his own. “. . . you don’t seem . . . comfortable.”

“I’m fine.”

“Is that why you stare at the ocean every night?”

He snorted, trying to lean away from her. “It helps me fall asleep, that’s all.” He thought she was done with this sisterly act; apparently not. “I don’t need you coddling me.”

Her smile was hardly fazed. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I just . . . you’re important to me, Felix. I want you to be happy, too.”

“I’m fine.”

She opened her mouth, but didn’t answer. Her arm merely pressed more against his, her body shifting with her every breath.

He knew what she was thinking. To an extent, all of them did. He thought he had them convinced, but it appeared their lacking commentary was more placating than understanding. They thought he had fallen to the siren song: that he craved—more than anything—to return to that island. That he wanted to step right into Sylvain’s arms and beg to be killed.

It wasn’t that. He just didn’t want to feel so empty anymore. And the thought that—somewhere beneath the waves—Sylvain was alive and well and off hunting someone else . . . it helped.

“You know,” Mercedes didn’t look at him, her gaze still far off to the sea, “there are stories of men and sirens falling in love.”

He twitched, and she was too close to hide it. “Let me guess: at the end the man gets eaten.”

“Not all of them. The ones I mean are quite old . . . before merchants started encountering them too often.” She tilted her head, thinking. “In those . . . usually the siren dies.”

He blinked, head snapping to her. “Why? How?”

She giggled. “I thought you didn’t like my stories.”

He forced himself to look away, if only to hide the blush on his face. “I don’t like the others interrupting.”

“Oh, of course.” She hummed, amusement no different than that from her stories.

Felix rubbed his eyes. It was frustrating; he could never read her well before, and it was even more difficult now. He could never tell if she was mocking him.

“Usually,” Mercedes continued, resting her head on his shoulder, “the siren sacrifices himself for his lover. Other people find out, or his kind do, or there’s a storm, or . . .”

“I get the point.”

“Sometimes, though,” she sighed, voice quieter, “sometimes they make it. Sometimes they run away, where they make a world for themselves.”

He swallowed. “Why are you telling me this?”

She pulled away, smile no different than it had been all night. A gentle hand rested between his shoulders.

“I’m not in love with Sylvain, Mercedes.”

Her smile faltered slightly, eyes just a touch . . . pitying. “I only want you happy.”

“So Felix,” Annette said, leaning over one of the many precarious boxes she had stacked there, “can I ask you something?”

Felix didn’t say anything, instead pushing back the box she was leaning on so it wouldn’t tip over. The last thing they needed was their spice haul scattered across the ground. It was already hard enough to keep intact and dry; it would be worse if a panicked Annette tried to recover the packages once they’d spilled out. They’d probably lose the whole box to the sea.

“Are you listening to me?” her cheeks flushed in frustration, which was—admittedly—quite cute.

“I’m counting.” He said, having to redo it for the fourth time. He scratched several tick marks into the paper in his hand. They could trade three on the next island to supply themselves for the rest of the journey; much more than that and they wouldn’t be able to make up the price once they’d arrived at the larger port cities. He’d have to confirm the amount with Ingrid to be sure, though.

When he glanced up after the fifth count, he realized Annette was still staring at him, a pout on her lips.

He sighed, though not as harshly as if it had been anyone else. He rolled up the paper in his hands. “What?”

“I wanted to ask you something.”

He crossed his arms. “I’m not stopping you.”

“It’s about the siren.” She ducked her head, like she expected to get yelled at. “Is that still okay?”

He groaned, turning to lean back about the cargo. “Fine.”

He could already hear her panicking behind him. “I can just not!” She flustered.

“Annette.” He rubbed his face. “Just ask the question.”

Annette swallowed. “Okay.” She moved so she could sit on the box. He wasn’t going to lecture her about it this time; at least it was balanced. “Okay.”

“ _Annette_.”

“Okay!” She cleared her throat. “Why does Dimitri hate talking about it so much? He always . . . gets um . . . sensitive . . . when Mercedes starts talking about sirens.”

Felix leaned his head back, staring up at the sky. A cloud was lazily floating across, alone as far as the eye could see. “Why don’t you ask him?”

“I . . . tried.” Annette frowned. “He said it’s just because they’re monsters.”

“Ah.”

“Felix,” Annette swallowed, “I know you weren’t there, but . . . when we thought we lost you, I . . . I thought we might have lost Dimitri, too.”

Felix glanced up at her. “He jumped back in?”

“N-no. Not that way. I just . . . didn’t recognize him.” She looked away. “You’ve known him the longest. I thought you’d know.”

Ah. Felix knew _exactly_ what she was talking about; he’d seen it many times, always when it was least expected—and always with sirens. In some ways, it made Dimitri a monster himself.

Felix hadn’t believed that sirens were people, but he never once considered enjoying their misery. He wanted their deaths clean, quick. Dimitri, though, Dimitri had reveled in it. He enjoyed their screams, their desperate attempts to escape. And Felix couldn’t stand it, so he left.

It had taken a long time for Felix to understand. By the time he came back, Dimitri had tamed that impulse, become a merchant, and was missing an eye. He didn’t pretend that nothing had happened—it was something unspoken between them—but Felix could be happy that the monster hadn’t appeared again.

Not until Sylvain’s appearance, it seemed.

“It’s because of Glenn.” Felix muttered, his fist clenching into his sleeve. “Dimitri _loved_ my brother. Admired him more than anyone else. And a siren took him away.”

“Oh.” Annette sounded like the wind had been taken from your lungs. “You never said—”

“He died at sea. Whether it was a siren or the ocean, it doesn’t matter.” Felix shrugged. “He knew what he was doing when he became a hunter. We all did.”

“Wait, you three were—” Annette’s mouth closed with a click, and she covered her mouth with her fingers. “Does anyone else know?”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s not a crime. It’s just unpopular, because it’s dangerous.”

“Oh.” She blinked, hands slowly lowering from her face. “So he died hunting them . . .”

“No.” He ignored her jolt. “He . . . met one he liked while hunting it. It . . . led him to more dangerous sirens—”

“Oh, so he—”

“ _Annette_.”

“Sorry.”

“The two of them had a sort of agreement. He’d let that siren live, and the siren would lead him to the worst of the sirens. Dimitri and I . . . we told him it was stupid. But he wouldn’t listen. He’d take our ship wherever he said the siren led him, we’d get a good hunt, and we’d sell the parts.”

“So . . . what happened?”

Felix inhaled slowly. “One day, while we were at port, he . . . vanished. The only thing he left behind was his sword.” He rubbed his face. “We searched the whole island. Then someone said he just . . . had walked into the sea.”

Annette’s hands were clutched tightly in front of her. “Because of the siren.”

Felix nodded. “My brother made his choice. And he paid for it.” He rubbed the back of his neck, irritation prickling beneath his skin. 

“I can see why he’s lashing out.” Annette muttered. “The situations are kind of similar.”

“No.” Felix glanced out across the horizon. It wasn’t . . . that similar. Felix returned home, after all. “They’re not alike at all.”

“There’s one thing that has me curious.” Ashe mused, tongue sticking out in concentration as he tried to pry his hook from a surprisingly small tuna.

Felix sighed, glancing at the bucket of other fish Ashe had caught. That would likely be their dinner tonight. He wasn’t sure he could stomach it. “Hm.”

“Let’s say Caspar was wrong—”

“He usually is.”

“—okay but just for the argument, say I believe you.” Ashe said, smiling as he finally managed to release the wriggling fish. He placed it in the bucket and cast the line again. “So why didn’t that siren sing to you?”

Felix swallowed, lips pressed together. It was something he had admittedly wondered himself, late at night when he still couldn’t sleep. Sometimes, he looked to the journal for answers, even though he knew it had nothing of use.

The writer, once a hunter himself, had kept his distance from Sylvain for fear of being consumed. Felix hadn’t noticed it then, but the siren was far thinner than his ilk, likely due to his injuries and limited stamina. Undoubtedly, the journal concluded, his hunger was enough where he’d eat even if he didn’t get a satisfying soul, or a decent desire to manipulate. Even a hunter would have been an easy target in Sylvain’s desperation.

Thus, it would have been easier for Sylvain to eat Felix than to hunt for him. 

But he didn’t. Not even when Felix threatened him.

“He said he didn’t know what I wanted.” Felix muttered, thinking back to that day. No, it wasn’t just that. It was that Sylvian wasn’t even sure _if_ he’d follow his nature once he knew. It had confused Felix back then—and his understanding was no better now.

“Really?” Ashe glanced over at him, lips pressed together. “But wouldn’t it be obvious?”

Felix shrugged.

“Huh.” Ashe’s eyebrows scrunched as he thought. “I guess that makes sense, though. Probably got that one all the time.”

“What?”

Ashe blinked, surprised by Felix’s interest.

It was admittedly a bad move; he’d only managed to keep them from following them by keeping his disinterest in sirens as clear as possible. If it sounded like he was even a little intrigued, then they’d start doubting him again. They’d start following him.

But that wasn’t the look on Ashe’s face. “You know. Ate people wanting to get off the island. Probably had that a lot.”

“Why would that make any difference?”

Ashe grinned, just like he had the first time Felix admitted he knew of Ashe’s pirate heroes. “Well. . . you know how some say they don’t actually need to eat people to survive?”

Felix hummed, trying not to think of the way Sylvain ate his fish. “I’ve heard.”

“Well, in my hometown, they really believe that.” Ashe glanced down at his bucket. “There were these stories that, in the past, they used to have a sort of . . . cooperation between the village and the sirens. Helped each other out. We gave them protection, they helped us fish. It went bad, eventually, but it did help us learn some . . . well . . . pretty interesting things. It’s the basis for a lot of siren studies, actually.”

Felix sighed, leaning on the railing, his eyes following the fishing line. There were plenty of tales like that in the past. “Get to the point.”

Ashe laughed weakly. “Unlike us, they don’t really . . . have any desires themselves.”

Felix snorted. “Impossible.” He shook his head. “They have to eat.”

“Not _needs_ , Felix. Desires.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “That’s not any different.”

“It _is_.” Ashe paused to pull in his reel a bit. “Think about it. When you were on the island, you had food and water and a place to sleep. You had everything you needed. So, to survive, you didn’t _need_ to get off the island. You just _wanted_ to.”

Felix snorted. “Clearly sirens didn’t _need_ to associate with your hometown.”

“No, not exactly. But they knew they needed to eat, and they needed a place to rest. Making a deal with the town would have managed that. Everything else was just . . . probably running through the motions. I imagine the siren you were with was very convincing, too.”

Felix’s mind flashed to Sylvain, bleeding in the water with a pathetic smile, his voice soft as he said, _‘maybe I wanted to keep you for myself.’_ That wasn’t a need, and Felix wasn’t convinced it could be faked. No, he’d known Sylvain too well to be fooled.

“After they stopped working together, they started attacking humans. But, well, specific ones. The village realized people were attacking people because they wanted to want. And, when they eat us, they can, even if for a little while. They can pretend that they feel desire themselves by consuming our own.”

_‘What does it matter if it’s not real?’_ Sylvain had huffed, long after the tension from Felix’s murder attempt had dissipated. ‘ _It is for them._ ’

Felix had thought it was a lure—Sylvain being clever, playing the siren’s game. He couldn’t fathom how any human could think it was worth the cost to give up their life for something fake. It certainly couldn’t have been worthwhile for his brother, and Felix couldn’t imagine _anything_ he’d willingly die for.

But Sylvain hadn’t been talking about his victims. He’d been talking about himself.

Ashe sighed. “Sorry, the point. Right. It probably just didn’t eat you because it had eaten a hundred other people who just wanted to be off an island. Maybe it just wanted you to get interested in something else.”

The problem was, that Felix _did_ want something. It wasn’t leaving the island. It wasn’t going back to his previous life. It was something simple, inane. A small taste that he recognized when that hollowness inside started to ache again.

He just wanted to feel like he always did around Sylvain. Wanted to know more about him so he could let him in.

And Sylvain refused to even acknowledge it.

Felix frowned, staring out at the sea. It was unlikely he’d be bothered tonight. Most of the crew had gone out on shore leave, taking advantage of arguably the nicest port they’d be at for months. Some went to shop, some to eat well, some to sleep in a comfortable bed or with comforting company. Only a couple remained: Dimitri, who rarely left the ship, and Dedue, who rarely let Dimitri out of his sight.

It would have been the perfect time to train, if Ingrid hadn’t made him swear to rest. And he’d never been a man to win any argument with Ingrid, no matter how many times he’s tried, or how much effort he put into it.

He’d entertained himself for a short while by sharpening his blade. But he’d done that so often now—between using it to ignore people and to entertain himself during sleepless nights—that there was little work to be done.

Now, he merely toyed with the whetstone in his hand, thumb rolling over the surface.

He couldn’t deny that this was wrong. It had been months since he was on the island, months since he’d so much as seen a siren. And yet, it kept his fascination. His attention kept sliding to the ocean, looking for a flame among the waves. His mind was always occupied, quieted only when he looked at the sketches of Sylvain in the journal. Peace was only found if he exhausted himself, collapsing into bed. But even his dreams were haunted by that smile and that laugh.

Maybe Sylvain _had_ sung, when Felix was asleep. Maybe he was just waiting for the chance to strike, for Felix to be another soul among the multitudes.

More disturbing, Felix wasn’t sure he’d mind at this point—not if it made him feel fulfilled again.

“Ah, so you’re still awake.”

Felix startled at the voice, the whetstone tumbling from his hands. He turned around, a snarl on his lips. “Damn it, Dimitri!”

Dimitri winced, fingers wringing together in front of him. “I apologize. I can . . . give you one of mine.”

“Just,” Felix exhaled sharply, forcing himself to calm, “forget it.” He had a few spares, anyway.

Dimitri ducked his head, having the gall to look sheepish. “May I join you?”

Felix snorted, turning back to lean on the railing. “It’s your ship.”

Dimitri was quiet as he came up along Felix’s side, resting his elbows against the railing as he glanced down into the water. It almost looked like he was trying to see the whetstone there, even though the water was deep and—as Dimitri likely forgot—it was _dark_.

Felix didn’t bother saying anything, instead resting his chin in his hand. The moon’s light spread across the water’s surface, the sea remarkably calm considering the season. There was probably another storm out there further than he could see, battering another reckless ship, other sirens plucking at their lost soldiers. Maybe Sylvain was among those numbers.

“I’m worried about you, Felix.” Dimitri said, voice soft.

Felix snorted. “This isn’t the first time we couldn’t sleep.”

Granted, the last time had been after Glenn’s death. They had scoured the seas, Dimitri eager for any sign that Glenn still lived, or for the siren that had taken him away. He refused to rest until he had either Glenn in his arms, or that creature torn apart in his hands. Felix had forced himself to accept the loss—it was the choice made by every siren hunter—but stayed awake for worry of his new captain. He worried Dimitri’s desperation would make him next. And then Felix would be alone.

“That isn’t what I mean.” Dimitri exhaled a sigh, long and miserable. “You’re . . . distracted.”

“ _Distracted_?” Felix glared at his captain, sneer on his lips. “I’m getting work done. Your part, too. Unless you forgot that I get to deal with those worthless excuses for merchants?”

Dimitri glanced down at him, expression neither amused nor sheepish. No, he appeared just as annoyed as Felix. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

Felix snorted. “What _do_ you mean?”

Dimitri’s scowl deepened, like he was furious at Felix being willingly obtuse. But then, with no rational reason, it softened. He stared back at the sea. “I’m . . . afraid I’ll lose you too, if this continues.”

“I’m not an idiot.” Felix waved his hand, rolling his eyes. “I’m not tired enough to fall over the rail.”

“ _Felix_ ,” Dimitri’s fingers ran through his hair, exasperated, “I don’t know what I’ll do if you become like your brother.”

Venom slid quickly onto Felix’s tongue, driven by pure ire. “I’m _not_ my brother.”

“He pretended there was nothing wrong with sirens, too. No, nothing wrong with _his_ siren.”

“I don’t have a siren. He was—”

“You refuse to refer to it as it is.”

Felix twitched. He chewed the inside of his cheek, if only to ease the tension in his jaw. “I don’t have patience for semantics.”

“What of you?”

“What?”

“Would you go back to it, if you had the chance?”

“I—”

“If it appeared, would you go to it?”

“Don’t be—"

“Felix.” Dimitri’s hand clamped over Felix’s wrist, the grip just on the edge of too tight. “Please do not lie to me.”

Felix scowled, glare unwavering. If he wanted answers, _fine_ , but Felix wasn’t going to tolerate his temper. He wasn’t going to let that monster free itself. “Let go of me.”

Dimitri’s voice shifted into a low growl. “Felix—”

“Let. Go.”

Dimitri glared, lip curling. His hand held, squeezing just a bit more in defiance. But Felix wasn’t someone new to this beast. He knew how it worked. He knew where the line was. And he knew, more than anything else, that it would go against Dimitri’s wants entirely to hurt him—even Dimitri had to fear that it would send Felix running back to his worst enemy.

A strange look passed across Dimitri’s expression, before crumbling entirely into something uncertain. He snatched his hand away, the growl half-hearted. “I suppose that’s my answer.”

Felix rubbed at his wrist. “I don’t know.” He muttered.

“What?”

“Your question.” Felix leaned back against the railing. There was nothing to see in the sea. “I don’t know what I’d do.”

Dimitri kept his eye to the sea, as if he worried about Sylvain showing up at any moment. “Even though it’s a monster?”

Felix inhaled slowly, trying to clear his head. But it was an answer that he couldn’t find on his own—not even when the nights were at their quietest, the winds still and the waves beneath them negligible. Everything used to be so straightforward, yet this answer kept eluding him.

But, even so, he knew it wasn’t really the fact Sylvain was a monster that left him uncertain. It had been an excuse before—a sense of self-preservation—that was too fragile now to even consider. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Why is that?”

Felix snorted. “It’s a stupid hypothetical. He wouldn’t come within a mile of here. Not with your threats.”

“Ah.” Dimitri hummed, the wood creaking as he pressed his fingers into the railing. “I am not convinced that will deter it.”

Felix watched as Dimitri pushed away from the railing, turning back toward his room. “Why is that?”

Dimitri glanced back at Felix, expression unreadable. “It wouldn’t stop me.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Ingrid huffed, her steps shadowing Felix’s as he walked from the galley to the deck. “You can’t seriously think anyone would approve.”

“I’m not asking for permission.” Felix huffed, pausing at the ramp to fix the ties of his scabbard.

“Felix.” Ingrid’s hand gripped into his sleeve, persistent even as he tried to shake it off. “At least take someone with you. Please.”

Felix glared at her, scowl already curling on his lips. “How long do I have to be here before you stop treating me like a child?” He growled. “Should I expect to be followed my whole life?”

Ingrid twitched, expression faltering. “I just—”

He snapped his arm away, uncaring if his sleeve tore. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Ingrid’s hand still lingered in the air between them. “It’s not safe, Felix.”

“You never cared before!” He snarled. He pulled himself back when he saw the hurt on her face, and redirected his ire to the sea. Restlessness coiled in his spine, making everything uncomfortable. “I just . . . I need to train. And I can’t focus here. Not when I know you all think I’ll dive off the deck.”

“We don’t—”

He stared at her.

Ingrid sighed, her hand lowering to her side. “I know you’re unhappy, Felix.” She muttered, glancing away.

Felix blinked, anger fizzling to confusion.

“I know you’ve always been. Maybe I’m the only one who does.” Gently, she put her hand on his shoulder. “I just . . . don’t want you to do something risky to change that. I don’t want to lose you.”

He sighed, placing his hand on hers. “I’m just going to train. I’ll be fine.”

Ingrid smiled, though it was fragile. “Swear to me.”

He nodded. “I swear.”

It felt wrong to lie to Ingrid—to make a promise that he wasn’t sure he could keep. But he had to. He couldn’t risk anyone else. He couldn’t let someone else suffer if he was, in fact, making a fool’s choice.

The whetstone sat heavy in his pocket as his feet crunched in the sand. He ran his thumb over it, lips pressed together. It was hardly a comforting gesture.

He’d made his decision when he saw it early in the morning. It sat on the railing, not far from where he had been that night with Dimitri. And Felix knew it wasn’t Dimitri’s way of being subtle—even if the man _could_ be subtle, this one was definitely Felix’s. His initials were carved deep into the stone, lest Caspar try to use it.

Looking at it had made warmth blossom in his chest. That hollowness, sated for only a moment. Hope, thriving where he thought he had suffocated it.

He had to know. Had to know if it was _Sylvain_ that he craved—that would fill this emptiness that he had never allowed himself to feel before.

It wasn’t long until the entire port city—his ship included—was entirely out of sight. There were plenty of coves here, after all. The cliffs sat as high walls, the sand dug into shallow caves, widening to longer beaches when the tide was low. Dozens of private rooms, separated by boulders broken up by the sea. There were plenty of places to be and not be seen.

He let himself stand there for a little while giving his mind the chance to reconsider his foolishness. He had to allow himself this one last escape. 

With a small sigh, he sat in the sand, staring out across the sea. There was a chance he was wrong about this. In so many ways, this could have been a fool’s errand. 

Perhaps he was wrong that Sylvain would be the solution. Perhaps it wasn’t the siren that would fill that emptiness, that irrefutable _lack_ , that kept getting wider in his chest. Maybe he’d just wanted to be on the island—away from the people, the ship, the towns—where his destiny was determined by his own will. Where he chose how to live, and what to do, and—very likely—how he would die.

But thinking about those waves and those sands had the same effect as sitting here did.

Which meant it was Sylvain. Which was a whole different, and perhaps worse, issue.

After all, sirens were known to be cunning. This—all of this—could have been an intelligent ploy playing off his wants. Perhaps Felix had been allowed to leave on purpose, just so he could _want_ again. Perhaps Sylvain was merely biding his time until he was ready to feed, and Felix would be walking right to his death. The whetstone would just be the first stone for his grave.

But that wasn’t up to Felix. All he wanted, _really_ wanted, was to feel whole and right again. And, very likely, Sylvain was that missing piece. If he chose to devour Felix from the inside, then so be it.

Perhaps even more likely, though, this was all in Felix’s head. Perhaps Sylvain wasn’t following—and the whetstone’s appearance was a lie he kept telling himself. The stone wasn’t unique—he had hundreds of them. Maybe someone had merely dropped it there, not wishing to deal with him, and knowing he’d be back come morning.

He pulled his knees close to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. It was supposed to be comforting, but it hardly made him feel any better. It just made him feel weak, foolish.

His eyes slid back toward the port. He should just go back. Live with this feeling. It would fade to a tolerable level eventually—it had with Glenn.

Something shifted in his periphery, different than the waves lapping at the shoreline. His gaze snapped to the ocean line—not allowing himself to expect more than a seal or perhaps a dolphin. But there, just beyond the waves, was a familiar red. It stayed there, unmoving, consistent. And just below, familiar golden eyes.

Felix stilled, refusing to even blink in case Sylvain startled and vanished. But the siren just stayed there, unmoving. Almost like—dare Felix even think it—he was worried Felix would vanish as well.

But Felix was not a man of any patience. “I know you’re out there.”

Sylvain’s head dipped beneath the waves.

Felix sighed, knocking his forehead against his knees. Perhaps he should be glad that Sylvain didn’t charge up to the shore or start singing. Even with the sea between them, Felix knew the hold would be enough.

But that didn’t really make him feel any better.

Perhaps it was one-sided, then. Sylvain had made him feel something he hadn’t in ages—a longing, a need he couldn’t quite explain. Sylvain’s presence here had likely been curiosity at best—dissolved into disinterest once he knew who it was.

And why wouldn’t it be that way? Felix had very nearly killed him—on more than one occasion.

When he lifted his head again, his heart stopped.

There was Sylvain, just a few long steps from the waterline. The waves rolled along his hips, his tail completely invisible in the water. He was deeper than he’d been the first time they met, though the sensation was hardly any different. Felix couldn’t keep his eyes from roaming over the siren’s body—to the way his hair dripped water along his cheekbones, or the way his shoulders flexed as he resisted stronger waves, or the way the gills along those well-defined muscles fluttered slightly in the air.

This time, though, he also couldn’t keep himself from focusing on the new knot of scars along Sylvain’s shoulder and waist, the lack of his smile, or the way his body coiled like he was prepared to vanish at any moment.

His fists clenched at his sides, unable to ignore the way the lacing scars dipped below the waves. “I’m sorry.”

Sylvain’s gaze followed his own, glancing down at the marring there. “It’s fine. I healed, thanks to you.”

Felix grunted; he couldn’t be credited for help when he was the cause, too.

“I’m,” Sylvain’s voice was soft, uncertain in a way that Felix had never really seen, “I’m glad you’re okay, too.”

Felix frowned. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Sylvain rubbed the back of his neck, looking away. “It’s not important.”

“ _What_.”

The water shifted at Sylvain’s tell-tale shift of his tail. “There are . . . stories.” His lips pressed tightly together, something miserable beneath that otherwise neutral expression—or perhaps it was the fact that it _was_ neutral that was the clue. “That humans kill those who’ve dealt with us.”

Felix snorted. “Why would they do that?”

“They think . . .” Sylvain sighed, “they think they’re under our thrall. That we’ll use them to hurt others.”

Felix tensed, fingers twitching as they ached for the feel of his blade at his side. Was that what this obsession was? A _thrall_? Something he couldn’t even identify—let alone control?

Sylvain, still not even looking at Felix, just laughed. “Stupid, I know.” His hand shifted to run through his hair, the remaining water dripping into the ocean. “Your crew probably knows better.”

Felix could feel his cheeks heat with shame. His hand clenched at his side.

Sylvain finally glanced at him, his eyes immediately snapping to Felix’s fist. Neutrality slipped into something irritated. Whatever barrier had kept him away shattered, the siren crawling closer across the sand. “ _Did_ they hurt you?”

Felix’s knees parted too easily to let him near, and Sylvain too easily filled the gap. This close, Felix could see where the scar at Sylvain’s side extended, digging deep along his scales. That the elixir couldn’t heal it in its entirety made Felix’s chest hurt.

Hands cupped his face, fingers pressed together so he could only feel the softness of the gentle touch and not the rough webbing between them. Thumbs brushed over his cheekbones, claws so close to his eyes and yet entirely unthreatening. There was also the unmistakable press of Sylvain’s tail against his side, curling firmly around his back.

It was strange, how just proximity and simple touches seemed to evaporate the misery he’d been feeling for weeks. “No. They didn’t.”

Sylvain’s sigh was soft, but impossible to miss. It ate at something in Felix’s chest.

And he had to get answers, before Sylvain vanished again. “Why do you care?”

Sylvain smiled. His laugh was too pathetic to even call a chuckle. “I don’t know.” His hands shifted as he pulled away.

But Felix was faster. His hand clamped around Sylvain’s wrist, uncaring as the siren’s clawed fingers flexed far too close to his face. “Is it because you want to eat me?”

Sylvain twitched, whole body shifting as he tried to twist away. “Felix—”

“Answer me.”

“N-no. I just—I wanted to be sure you were alright.” Sylvain grimaced as Felix’s grip tightened. “It’s got nothing to do with that.”

Felix’s eyes narrowed.

“Really! I just—I was worried. That’s all.”

Felix wasn’t stupid. Even if he wanted to drop it, if he wanted to let this pass forever, he knew it wouldn’t make him feel any better. He’d never been one to deny the truth. “How did you find me then, Sylvain?”

Sylvain smiled sweetly. “Your ship comes here often. I waited.” Sylvain’s tail, from what Felix could tell, was still.

“You found me in the storm.” Felix muttered. “You found me here the same way. As all sirens can do.”

Sylvain’s smile shattered. “Not . . . the same way.” He crumpled under Felix’s stare. “Before, I found you by looking for the emptiness. Now I . . . I can just tell which want is yours.”

Heat built into Felix’s cheeks. Maybe—just maybe—Sylvain could name it. Maybe he would know what Felix could never decipher. “You can tell?”

Sylvain nodded.

“How long?”

“. . . not long before you left the island.”

“What is it?”

“I don’t know.” Sylvain muttered. “I don’t want to.”

Felix released Sylvain’s wrist, his own hand falling into his lap. He’d known this, somewhere past his willful ignorance, that he’d not been as empty as Sylvain described. He’d known that Sylvain could taste it, but never came near. And, worst of all, he’d known Sylvain was the cause. “You don’t know.”

Sylvain shifted like he was about to pull away, but stopped himself. “If I did . . . I might . . .” He shook his head, eyes flicking to the direction of the ship. “I don’t trust myself.”

Felix exhaled sharply. “I do.”

He reached up, fingers curling into Sylvain’s hair. It wasn’t hard to pull the siren down to his level, easy for his lips to slot against Sylvain’s. The siren went rigid.

But, much to Felix’s surprise, Sylvain slowly melted against him.

And then Sylvain pulled away, close enough for their breaths to mingle, but not close enough to touch. He looked dazed, gaze far off and unfocused. But he wasn’t senseless; he could see the glimmer in the depths of Sylvain’s eyes, like flecks of gold shining in the sun. 

Felix imagined he looked no better, his face hot like it was on fire. He chuckled, the sound breathier than he would have liked. “Is this the part where you devour me?” He muttered.

Sylvain’s teeth flashed as he grinned. “Yes.” He breathed, body pushing up so he so easily looked down on Felix. His expression shifted into something hungry—predatory, even—eyes glowing in a way utterly impossible. It sent a chill down Felix’s spine; he wasn’t afraid, couldn’t be, not with his heart thrumming in his chest and finally, _finally_ feeling whole.

Sylvain tilted Felix’s chin up with a single knuckle, and Felix followed willingly. If he was wrong—and if he was going to die—then so be it.

But Sylvain didn’t go for his throat as a siren would. No, he pressed into another kiss, deep and hungry and all-consuming. His entire body pulled Felix closer, dragging him closer with every breath. His hand wrapped around Felix’s side, pressing into the small of his back. A hand cupped his cheek, fingers gentle but insistent. His tail even dragged Felix’s hips nearer, defiant of the sand’s attempts to encourage distance between them. Felix could only keep his fingers curled in Sylvain’s hair to hold on.

Eventually Felix _had_ to breathe. He pulled away, gasping for breath.

But Sylvain was relentless, entirely unfazed. He merely urged Felix’s chin up a bit more, pressing kisses along his throat. His hums seemed to reverberate through his body, spreading into Felix’s at every contact point.

Felix cursed the siren’s secondary respiratory system. He, on the other hand, was far too breathy for his own taste.

He needed something to even the playing field. If only to catch his breath. “I didn’t think,” he bit down on a groan as Sylvain kissed along his pulse, “sirens felt desire.”

Sylvain smiled against Felix’s skin. “Ah, then what would you call this?”

Felix tried not to twitch as he felt Sylvain’s sharp teeth scrape over his skin. But Sylvain didn’t seem bothered; instead, he chuckled. He nipped along Felix’s neck and collarbone, enough to feel but not even enough to bruise.

He inhaled sharply as Sylvain pulled on his collar to leave a mark entirely indiscreet there. “That’s hardly an answer.”

Sylvain kissed at the mark, eyes entirely alight as he glanced up at Felix. “No, I suppose it isn’t.” He smiled playfully, so close that his lips brushed over Felix’s skin as he spoke.

Felix scowled, tugging at Sylvain’s hair. It was hardly a deterrent, Sylvain choosing instead to nose affectionately at the mark. “Isn’t that why you eat humans?”

Sylvain groaned, pulling back. He wasn’t angry—not even irritated—his lip sticking out in a petulant pout. “Are you _seriously_ complaining that I’m not eating you?”

Felix scowled. That _was_ a rather stupid complaint, wasn’t it? But admitting that would just look worse. And he already was at an immense disadvantage here.

Fortunately, Sylvain caved first. He sighed, nuzzling in the crook between Felix’s jaw and throat. “I’ve . . . felt it before. When feeding.” He hummed, the sound almost needy. “But not like _this_.”

Felix finally got a chance to retaliate, nipping a rather pleasant lovebite on Sylvain’s collarbone. “Like what?”

Sylvain hummed approvingly against Felix’s skin, encouraging another bite. His kisses on Felix’s skin were softer, now, more affectionate and less desperate. “Intense.” He muttered. “Like it’s mine.”

Felix felt a pleasant shudder down his spine. “Maybe it is.”

“Maybe.” Sylvain nuzzled against Felix’s shoulder, his arms wrapping around Felix into a firm embrace. “All I know is that it feels right being near you. It’s like . . . you’re a current that keeps pulling me to you, and I can’t break free.” He sighed, kissing the skin there. “I don’t want to.”

Felix snorted. “That is the worst pick up line I’ve ever heard.”

Sylvain laughed. “Should I try something else?”

“Ugh,” Felix groaned, “don’t.”

“As you wish.” Sylvain shifted to cup his cheeks, leaning in for another kiss. “You are a man of action, after all.”

Felix snorted. “You’re insufferable.”

“You like it.”

“I—”

“Felix?” A too-sweet voice echoed against the cliffs. “Feli~x?”

Felix froze, any warmth and comfort immediately vacating his body. If Mercedes found them, then Sylvain was as good as dead. She’d get Dimitri, and there was no way Sylvain had enough self-preservation to stay away. He snapped himself away from Sylvain.

But Sylvain didn’t seem to get the message. He pouted, fingers gripping tighter into Felix’s clothes. “Girlfriend?” He whined.

“Get back into the sea.” Felix hissed.

Sylvain’s expression soured. “Not till you tell me.”

“Are you—,” Felix sneered, “are you _serious_?!”

“Yes!”

“Do I _look_ like I have a girlfriend?”

“You _could_.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Felix—”

Mercedes’ voice broke through their bickering. “Oh my.”

Felix paled, gaze snapping to where she stood, her hand covering her mouth and her eyes wide. There was no disguising how this looked. Even as Felix tried to pull away, Sylvain’s body was still pressed between Felix’s legs, his tail still wrapped firmly around them, pulling their hips closely together. His claws were entwined in Felix’s shirt, still insistently pulling him close. And Felix himself, well, he imagined Mercedes could draw few other conclusions from his flushed face, mussed hair, the multitude of bitemarks, and whatever else Sylvain had managed in their short time together.

“Mercedes,” Felix breathed, chest clenching, “you can’t tell Dimitri. _Please_.”

A deep voice echoed in their little cove, and Felix’s heart stopped: “It’s too late for that.”

Dimitri stepped from around the boulder, his expression cold. To his side, his blade remained sheathed, but Felix wasn’t sure for how long. His glare was cold, cruel even. Not unlike it had been so long ago, when the only thing he cared about was killing sirens.

Felix swallowed, his throat tight. “Dimitri . . .”

But Dimitri didn’t even look at him. No, it was as if only he and Sylvain were there, facing off like they had back on the island. “I thought I was clear.”

Sylvain shifted in Felix’s arms, fingers curling deeper into Felix’s clothes. He eyed the sea, but it was too far now. He wouldn’t make it before he was caught—they both knew that.

And so Sylvain smiled, shrugging nonchalantly. “I’ll admit when I’ve been beat.” He pressed his cheek against Felix’s shoulder, as if he had nothing left to lose. “Skin me, sell me, whatever. Do nothing, and I’ll keep coming back.”

Felix paled. He couldn’t bring himself to push Sylvain away. “You can’t be that stupid.”

“I’m an idiot by nature.” Sylvain admitted, nuzzling slightly, his eyes still on Dimitri.

Dimitri snarled. “I’ll fix that for you.”

As Dimitri’s footsteps pressed into the sand, Felix found himself jumping to his feet—unheeding of the way Sylvain’s claws tore his coat. Against all sense, he drew his blade against his captain. 

Dimitri glowered, but his footsteps paused regardless. At least he wasn’t too angry to realize that he still was at a disadvantage when crossing blades with Felix.

“Go back to the sea, Sylvain.” Felix hissed.

“You’re joking.” Sylvain gaped.

“Leave.”

The sand shifted, and for a moment Felix was relieved. Sure, he was probably a dead man for this, but at least Sylvain would be okay. He’d forget, eventually, and he’d be fine.

But Sylvain merely curled his fingers into Felix’s pants. “No. I leave, and you’re another siren’s target. Not gonna happen.”

Felix whirled on him. “Will you just—”

“Maybe,” Mercedes’ voice was soft, but firm, “we should all take a breath before someone gets hurt.”

Felix glanced back, a chill down his spine as he realized his mistake. Dimitri’s blade had been drawn, his feet already closing half the gap between them. Another few seconds, and he could have thrown Felix—taking whatever hit Felix lashed out—and skewered Sylvain.

But Mercedes had intervened with little more than a hand on his arm.

“Thank you. I believe we can handle this easily.” She smiled like she wasn’t the only thing keeping a human monster tethered. “Sylvain, right?”

Sylvain’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “Yes.”

“Have you fed recently?” She tilted her head, humming as she thought. “Humans, specifically, if you don’t mind.”

Sylvain’s fingers dug deeper into Felix’s pants, body coiled tight. He smiled, but it was fragile. “Not for . . . a year or so.”

“I see. Good.” She nodded, knuckles tapping at her chin. “Are you capable of magic?”

Sylvain closed his mouth firmly, gaze firm on Mercedes like _she_ was the one threatening him. Felix was hardly surprised. Most sirens lacked the talent or practice; like humans, they seemed to prefer the easier methods—though theirs were of claws and teeth. Magic sirens, though, _those_ were rare.

If they weren’t sold for parts, then many armies would pay extra just to use them as living weapons. And the treatment there wasn’t pleasant—small tanks, needles, and unending pain.

“He is more than capable of it.” Dimitri growled. “I have seen it firsthand.”

She nodded. “I see. That’s quite unique.”

Dimitri growled, hand clenching around his blade. “You understand why we cannot let him live.”

“On the contrary.” Mercedes mused. “I think he should join our crew.”

Dimitri sputtered, yanking his arm away from her. “You’re joking.”

Even Felix couldn’t believe his ears. “What?”

“I understand it’s odd,” Mercedes said, her hands folding in front of her, “but I think it may be best. If you kill Sylvain, Felix will leave. If you do not kill Sylvain and let him leave, then Sylvain will continue to return against your wishes. In both cases, Felix becomes a tantalizing target for any other siren.” She shook her head. “If Sylvain stays, then both he and Felix are satisfied, _and_ Felix is protected.”

Dimitri sneered. “Absurd. He’ll just—”

“If he wished to drag Felix away,” there was a darkness beneath the sweetness, not unlike the worst of her horror stories, “he would have before we got here. Not, well, ravished him on the beach.”

It was Felix’s turn to sputter. “I wasn’t—”

Dimitri glowered. “I will not lose him, Mercedes.”

Mercedes nodded. “I don’t wish to, either. We pull them apart, and we will.”

Dimitri’s arms crossed, glare furious and unwavering toward his siren target. “There must be other ways.”

Mercedes sighed. “I’d like to think we both know Felix well.” She shook her head. “We know what he’ll do.”

Dimitri’s fist clenched so hard in the fabric that it tore his shirt. “You expect me to lose my best friend now, or let the siren take him later when we aren’t looking.”

Mercedes glanced over at Sylvain, her expression a polar opposite to her captain’s—curious, fascinated. “I think he knows Felix too well for that, too.”

“You let me stay,” Sylvain interrupted, a smile on his lips, “and I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll fight a fucking Leviathan, if you’d let me stay with him.”

Felix turned on him. “Don’t just—”

Dimitri sighed, rubbing his eye. As his hand moved away, his glare fixed on Sylvain once more. “Very well. For the moment, I’ll allow it. But if I even suspect you intend to harm him, the agreement is void. I will not lose another friend to your ilk.”

Sylvain smiled. “I’d sooner beach myself.”

“Well, Felix.” Mercedes hummed, far too satisfied with herself. “It appears it’s on you.”

Felix paled. It couldn’t be this simple. No, it was too easy for it all to go wrong. The crew would never accept him; they’d kill him the very second they had. And, if not, then Dimitri would the moment his temper flared. Or he’d send him to death _on purpose._ There was no way for Sylvain to be safe, no reason for him to agree to this.

But the alternative was worse. If he refused, then Sylvain would be killed, or he would be hunted. Dimitri wouldn’t rest until he was dead or sold, trapped into a contract in some landlocked region where Sylvain would suffer for the rest of his life. Felix could possibly fend Dimitri off—but if he fell, he had little confidence that Sylvain wouldn’t follow him to hell.

So either Sylvain was dead later, or only possibly dead now. And it was on Felix to choose.

Felix glanced across the water, listening to the sound of the waves against the ship and the wind against his face. Sea birds cried above him, tempted by the temporary respite of their ship. On the other side of the deck, the crew cheered and hollered as another game of dice came to an end.

He couldn’t bring himself to join them. Not when the calm air made him nearly nostalgic, and the sea brought back the memory of longing. He’d been right, to an extent; time had healed the ache left by a lone siren on a deserted island, a feeling he never could have explained before.

Sometimes he still felt it, when sleep eluded him and the stars in the sky mocked his restlessness.

A thump reverberated into the wood, snapping Felix from his thoughts.

On instinct, he tossed a net into the waters, wrapping the ends around the railing, knotting it as tightly as he could. He had to, lest he lose another net. When the rope pulled tight and the knot didn’t give, he began to haul it up. It was a slow business, the weight heavier than most things they hauled out of the sea. But Felix’s stubbornness was legendary; he pulled and pulled until he had his prize and dumped it along the deck.

His prize was a redheaded siren, panting heavily and covered in blood. His arms seemed to collapse under him, unable to hold his own weight above the wood. Around him were a few parts and organs that were hopefully not his.

Sylvain glanced up at Felix, a wide smile on his face. “Hi Felix.” He breathed, not even bothering to wriggle out of his netting.

Felix barely bothered removing the net himself as he plucked Sylvain from the floor, carrying him in his arms. He had to swallow down his worry; Sylvain was alive and fine and Felix had plenty of elixers to help him. Most of his pay went to that nowadays anyway—though that was, thankfully, more from Sylvain’s stupidity than any malice on the crew’s part.

Sylvain didn’t complain. Instead, he wrapped his arms around Felix’s neck, nuzzling affectionately just beneath his jaw. His blood soaked into Felix’s clothes, but he didn’t seem to care. He was far too busy muttering stupid and absurd nicknames that Felix didn’t pay attention to. 

Felix was more preoccupied with navigating a siren’s broad tail through the narrow hall and into his room.

This was their routine, now. If anything attacked the ship, Sylvain would handle it, and Felix would patch him up. Of course, Felix preferred his other hobby of scavenging from sunken ships whenever they were near port, but those were far and few between out on the open ocean.

With as much care as he could muster, Felix lowered Sylvain into the already-prepared tub. It was a larger one he bought at their last stop, when he was finally able to afford it. It would make it far easier to clean Sylvain and care for his wounds—though more often than not he used it for the siren’s company when the small barrier of ship and sea between them seemed too much for Felix to tolerate.

“Have I mentioned,” Sylvain muttered, practically melting into the tub, “how much I _love_ warm water.”

Felix grabbed a rag, carefully scrubbing around where the blood seemed thickest. “More than enough.”

Sylvain hummed happily, the long fins of his tail flicking just over the tub’s edge.

As Felix scrubbed, he noticed that the damage wasn’t where the blood was thickest. And, as he continued to work, he realized that there was _none at all_. With a snarl, he reached for the bucket of icy water he used to wash his own face in the morning, dumping it over Sylvain’s head.

“You _utter ass!_ ” He growled.

Sylvain laughed. “Aw, come on. Is it so bad that I like being doted on?”

Felix considered throwing the rag at his face. For a creature that naturally seemed to ease the ache in his chest with every passing day, he seemed to revel in making Felix worry. “You should have _said_ something!”

“You didn’t ask.”

With a movement too fast for Felix to dodge, Sylvain grabbed his arm, tugging him rather gracelessly into the tub. Water splashed onto the floor, but Felix couldn’t even grouch about _that_ before Sylvain wrapped a firm arm around his waist, firmly trapping him in the tub.

“Don’t be so mean, Felix.” Sylvain teased, kissing the corner of Felix’s mouth as he opened it to argue. “I worked really hard today. Do you know I had to fight _two_ big serpent things?” He pressed a kiss to the other side.

Felix snorted. “You’re acting like you deserve a reward for just doing your job.”

“What if they were the one you made a lot of money on last time? I even brought the parts Mercedes said I should.” Sylvain curled a hand around the back of Felix’s neck, smiling as he met no resistance. His eyes glimmered in the limited light. His voice was breathy as his lips brushed against Felix’s. “Won’t you _reward_ me, Felix?”

Well, Felix couldn’t really argue against that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for following me to the end. I admit, this was entirely self-indulgent and the mythos is totally wacky. If you want me to say my interpretation, then feel free to ask! Otherwise, I think it's more fun to leave it to your interpretation!

**Author's Note:**

> Please feel free to reach out to me on Twitter! [@kayisdreaming ](https://twitter.com/kayisdreaming).
> 
> How Sirens work:  
> 1\. Sirens are born with incomplete souls (I have a whole concept behind that with people lost at sea but not relevant atm). Natural siren reproduction is kinda like dolphins. Since they're born like normal creatures, they have *no clue* why they are born incomplete.  
> 2\. Over time, sirens learned they could fill the gaps in their souls by consuming sentient, soul-having creatures (usually humans). Their consumption is both physical with the body and metaphysical with the soul.  
> 3\. Sirens can sense desire in other beings (it's assumed that a lack of desire in their souls is to blame), and use that to pull them in. A siren will only sing when it has found an easily-manipulated desire. The song will then lull the prey to the ocean, or to a place that makes them easier to feast upon.  
> 4\. The sustenance from humans will fill the hole in siren souls for a short while (probably a month or two), and the complete soul reflects in glowing eyes.  
> 5\. Because sirens are an intrinsic threat to humanity, they are hunted down  
> 6\. Sirens usually live in clans to handle any human threats. It's not required, but it's generally seen as suicide to be alone  
> 7\. Sirens tend to be hostile to those outside of their clan. 
> 
> Other general things:  
> -Sirens exist, so other monsters do, too!


End file.
